Albus Potter and the Legend of the Changelings
by allegratree
Summary: This is one chapter from the fourth installment of a series of Albus Potter stories I've written. I recommend reading the other three first, however, it isn't essential.
1. Diagon Alley

_**This is the fourth story I've written about Albus and his friends. They're all related and I recommend reading the previous ones if you find you are having difficulty following along with this one. They are all listed on my profile. **_

_**1) Albus Potter and the Muggled Holiday**_

_**2)Albus Potter and the Lyandelor Portal**_

_**3)Albus Potter and the Spellbinder**_

_**Many original characters in this story are introduced in previous stories, so I apologize if you don't know who you are reading about. Hopefully the story will be interesting despite this. I enjoy getting reviews and many reviewers have helped me by catching problems with my story. Please don't hesitate to tell me if something doesn't make sense. **_

_**Thanks,**_

_**Allegratree**_

Most of the muggles didn't even notice the Potter's car as it made its way down the freeway toward London. A few of them looked around curiously as they heard a strange grinding sound passing them, but when they couldn't identify the source of the sound, they shrugged their shoulders and chalked it up to some fellow's idling engine failing in the stopped traffic. If they could have seen the car, they wouldn't have believed their eyes. It wasn't an unusual make and model or obnoxious paint job that made the car stand out, nor was it covered with outrageous bumper stickers. The appearance of the car was, in fact, quite normal. What would have made the muggle's eyeballs fall clear out of their skulls was the way in which the car and its occupants nimbly shifted shape so as to squeeze in-between and past the numerous other vehicles idling on the pavement.

As it was, they couldn't see the car, nor its driver, nor the teenage boy sitting in the front passenger seat, completely absorbed in the new magical joke and prank book he'd received for Christmas. Occasionally, the later would break out in mischievous laughter and the voice of his younger brother would rise up from where he was sprawled out on the back seat.

"What's so funny, James?"

The older boy smirked and without turning around assured him that he would soon find out.

Albus Potter rolled his eyes and tried to focus on something still. The sensation of being constantly condensed and expanded left him a little queasy.

"Oh, go on!" their father muttered to the traffic under his breath. Albus glanced up at the back of his father's head curiously. Harry Potter was not generally given to moodiness, but in the days following Christmas, he'd been called into his job with the Department of Aurors twice to handle emergencies. The previous night, he'd had to leave just as the family was sitting down to dinner and hadn't returned until well past midnight. It seemed to Albus that the extra work was taking its toll on him and he knew that his father regretted the loss of the precious time he had with his sons when they were home from school on holiday. Their mother had noticed as well, and so when the owl arrived before daybreak, requesting that her husband return to work two hours before his time, she packed up a basket of pumpkin pastries and a thermos of coffee. Then she roused her two boys out of bed, suggesting that they accompany their father to London and take him out to lunch. Despite the unreasonably early hour, the boys were only too happy to go to London with their father. They enjoyed the time with him, but they also intended to enjoy a free afternoon in Diagon Alley.

They had both received generous monetary gifts for Christmas and Albus' share was burning a hole in his pocket. Albus smiled to himself as he counted out the many ways he could spend his gold in the various magical shops of Diagon Alley. His uncle's world famous joke emporium was first on his list of destinations. His brother was merely accompanying him in an advisory capacity. His Christmas gold had already been deposited in the vault at Gringotts Wizarding Bank for James had one ambition in his heart; to obtain a new Quidditch broomstick. He'd spent the holiday hounding everyone they knew for odd-jobs he could do in exchange for some money. He'd pestered their Aunt Linda so much when she and their three cousins had come over for lunch, that she'd offered him two galleons just to leave her alone! Between what he'd earned and his Christmas gold, he'd already managed to save about half the money he needed to upgrade his model, provided he could fetch a reasonable trade-in on his old broom. Though he wasn't planning on buying anything, he was looking forward to checking out the newest models and perhaps getting an estimated trade-in value on his current broomstick.

Suddenly, another car shot into the lane in from of them and their father had to throw on the breaks so fast that Albus slid from the seat and onto the floor. James emitted a howl of laughter as Albus groaned and rubbed his throbbing funny bone. Harry Potter grumbled in frustration at the driver who couldn't see them.

"Albus, for pity's sake! Sit in your seat properly and put on your safety belt!" he complained as he steered the car with one arm and used his wand hand to vanish away the coffee he'd spilt on his trousers. Albus got back into his seat clumsily and glanced at James in the rear-view mirror. He too, seemed puzzled by their father's uncharacteristic crossness.

"Sorry, Dad," Albus responded as he fastened his safety belt and looked out the window as the morning commuters flashed by.

A short time later, the Potters pulled into a narrow alley between the rears of two large buildings and Harry parked the car awkwardly in a miniscule space between two dumpsters.

"Alright. Everybody out!" he commanded tersely and the boys quickly obeyed. Their father held out the key fob and gave it a click. The Potters car deflated with a sharp squeal and was instantly sucked into the key fob, which he placed in his pocket.

"Dad, wait!" James cried, "My broomstick's still in the trunk!" Their father sighed in frustration and reproduced the vehicle so his son could fetch his broomstick, and was then obliged to repack the car in his Portable Car Park. At last, the family emerged from the alley into the side street, and their father guided them toward the Leaky Cauldron. They were two blocks from a main business section of London and every time they crossed the street, they could see a hoard of muggles in business and service industry attire, scuttling to and fro on the bright and noisy thoroughfare. The boys craned their necks to stare at them in the distance so that their father had to urge them to watch where they were going. If the muggles had ever glanced down the side streets they were passing, they might have noticed some strange things indeed, such as; teenagers strolling along with broomsticks strapped on their backs, men and women hustling about in long, colorful robes, a large cart being maneuvered through the street that was covered with cages full of owls, bats, ravens, and other magical companions, and a dubious-looking fellow in a long coat discretely handing out business cards that promised all manner of unattainable magical objects at a fair price. (The later of which quickly departed to the other side of the street at the sight of the approaching Potters.) As it was, the muggles didn't seem interested in what was going on in the adjoining neighborhood and never even glanced in their direction.

"Hey, maybe we could go in the park over there!" James suggested when the next intersection revealed a flash of green amongst the stone and steel.

"I would prefer it if you boys stayed in Diagon Alley while I'm working," their father told him, "I don't want you wandering around the city alone." James rolled his eyes.

"Dad! I'm going to be fourteen years old! Merlin's Beard! Don't you think I'm old enough to walk in a park by myself?"

"James…" their father warned.

"What's there to do in a muggle park, anyway?" Albus pointed out in a strategic way. He could tell his father was already irritable and he didn't want the day to be spoiled by James picking a fight.

"I don't know," he retorted, crossing his arms in a rather childish manner, "And I guess I'll never find out." Their father gave him a tired and stern look. He clearly wasn't in a mood to be wheedled by his son. James sighed and didn't push the issue. It wasn't that there was anything in particular that he wanted to do in the park. He merely yearned for a chance to explore something new.

Finally, the family arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, a small tavern hidden away down a back street, ignored by the muggles. The dining room was deserted and all the chairs were set upside down on the table. The tavern wasn't open for meals yet, but witches and wizards were free to enter and use the portal into Diagon Alley.

"Alright my dears," their father began, fatigue all over his face, "You know the rules. Stay together and be good to each other. Keep your wands put away. You both know you're not allowed to use magic outside of school accept in extreme emergencies." James began to ask for a clarification but his father cut him off. "A _life-threatening _emergency! I'll meet you back here at noon and we'll have something to eat." The boys nodded their agreement and said good-bye.

A moment later, they were standing at the end of Diagon Alley observing as the British Wizarding World got off to a sleepy start. A few individuals could be seen hurrying to work and preparing to begin the day. The only business that seemed to be already in operation was a café cart situated strategically in front of the Wizarding Bank. The bank itself hadn't opened yet and milling around the cart were several goblins who were sipping from pewter mugs filled with a thick, steamy, and greenish substance.

"That looks like it'd get anyone running in the morning," James commented sarcastically.

"Running away, maybe," Albus agreed, wrinkling up his nose in disgust as they approached the cart. The goblin's morning beverage smelled like bad breath.

"Do you want a 'Cocoa-loco Cauldron'?" Albus asked his brother, "My treat…" James smiled his agreement and Albus ordered the drink, causing the cart attendant the irritation of changing out a full galleon for one beverage. Then they took their drink clear away from the cart so they could enjoy it without being effected by the de-appetizing smell of the goblin goo.

"Where do you want to go first?" Albus asked him as they sat down on the curb.

"I dunno," James said gloomily as he kicked a piece of rubbish stuck between the cobble stones, "Nothing's even open yet."

"Oh, don't whine about it," Albus said, "Look, the broomstick shop will be opening in just a little while. By the time we finish our drink it'll almost be time. Then after that we can go to Uncle George's shop, and then to the candy kitchen, and then maybe…"

"The same old stuff…" James muttered, "We've seen it all already, at least a hundred times!"

Suddenly, James had to put his complaining on hold as they were approached by a teenage boy with straight black hair and slate grey eyes.

"What an wicked broomstick!" the boy exclaimed, eyeing James's broomstick enviously, "That's almost professional grade! How'd you get so lucky?" James was a little taken aback by the older boy's sudden attention, but he answered politely.

"Thanks. My dad got it for me," he explained but was careful to add, "He made me work to earn it though!"

"That's brilliant!" he exclaimed, "I bet that beauty really flies! My parents could never afford one, no matter how much work I did!" James looked down sheepishly. The boy before him was dressed in clean, formal robes of good quality. It was evident that his parents were not, by any means, paupers. James was uncomfortably humbled at the reminder of how privileged he was, particularly in light of the fact that his mission in Diagon Alley that day was to unload the very broom their new acquaintance was salivating over in favor of one that would leave Scorpius Malfoy's in the dust.

"He's looking to sell or trade it," Albus informed the boy whose eyes widened.

"Why?" he asked incredulously.

"Well…" James hesitated, "It doesn't really fit me right, I guess…and, I'm on my house's Quidditch team at school…"

"Oh. Hogwarts?" the boy asked them and both James and Albus nodded proudly. The boy gave them a knowing look as if their status as Hogwarts students betrayed their entire life stories.

"Then you'll know Rath, there," the boy said, gesturing behind him toward another boy who was just coming out of a parchment mill on the other side of the street, "My fiancé's brother." Albus and James looked at the approaching Rath. Albus recognized him as a Slytherin 7th year, though he hadn't known his name before.

"He's in my house," Albus agreed.

"Slytherin," the boy confirmed with an approving nod. He seemed to think that if someone had to attend Hogwart's the very least he could do was have the decency to be in Slytherin. James stared at him awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. He didn't know Rath from Adam.

"How much as you asking for it?" the boy asked and James started.

"Well…" James said hesitatingly, "I was going to have it appraised at the Quidditch Supply shop today…It won't open for a while yet though."

"Maybe, I can make you a better offer," the boy suggested, "I just got a job working at Mr. Rath's new pawn shop. We're getting it ready for its grand opening." He took out a small card from a pocket within his robes, turned it over, and wrote down his name.

"That's me and that's the address of the pawn shop," he told James, "If you're interested, come by I'll see if I can beat whatever they offer you. I'd kill to have a quality broom like that, even second-hand!"

"Cesar Sutherland," James read aloud from the card and Albus' eyes widened in surprise.

"You know me, then," he stated, immediately noticing Albus' reaction, "How?" Albus glanced at James nervously.

"Er…I believe you're family is friends with the Malfoys," he explained finally. Cesar Sutherland's response was matter-of-fact.

"Actually, we have very little use for the Malfoys at all."

"Well, there we have something in common," James muttered and the boy looked at him curiously, but said nothing.

"Scorpius Malfoy mentioned to me that he knows you, is all," Albus explained further. The boy nodded his agreement, then added, "I haven't seen Scorpius in quite some time. He's really closer to my sister's age. My mother is good friends with the Blanchette family. One of their daughters is Scorpius' mother." Albus and James nodded and said nothing.

"Well, now I'm at a disadvantage," Sutherland continued, "You know me, but I don't know with whom I'm speaking."

"That, my dear Cesar, is because you are a moron!" Rath contributed laughingly. Sutherland looked at him confusedly and Rath elaborated, "It so happens that you are speaking to the world famous sons of the great Harry Potter!" Sutherland seemed to be surprised and perhaps a little embarrassed by this revelation.

"Merlin's Beard! I had no idea!" he stated, offering James his hand, "Are you James Potter?" James nodded solemnly.

"Then you must be Albus Potter," he concluded and Albus was obliged to shake his hand as well. He did his best not to look disgusted, though he had a tremendous urge to wipe his hand off as soon as possible. Roth rolled his eyes at his companion's ignorance.

"If you're done drooling over the celebrities, Cesar, we do need to get back to work."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Roth, sir!" Sutherland responded in an attitude of mock deference.

"Let me know if you're still interested in selling that broom," Sutherland told James and with that, they were gone.

"That was weird," James commented.

"Yes, it was," Albus agreed.

"Do you think he knows that our dad put his dad in prison?" James asked.

"If he does, he sure went out of his way to be polite. I expect he doesn't realize…or maybe he just really, really wants your broomstick!"

James chuckled as he watched the pair of older boys disappear in the direction of Knock-turn Alley.


	2. The Raths

James didn't have a whole lot of luck at the Quality Quidditch Supply shop. The shop's proprietor offered him a much smaller credit than he was hoping for his Windrider 3000. Disappointed, he watched as Albus was shown several broomstick maintenance kits by an eager store clerk. In the end, neither of them purchased anything and they shuffled out into the chilly winter air.

"He only offered me one-hundred galleons for it," James complained to his brother. Albus looked incredulous.

"I think he was trying to rip you off. He had three used Windriders in worse condition that he was selling for five-hundred galleons a piece." James looked thoughtful for a moment. Albus guessed he was wondering how much Cesar Sutherland would pay for it.

"Come on," James ordered finally, "Let's go over to Uncle George's shop. Maybe Teddy's working. I'll ask him what he thinks." They crossed the alley and headed up to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which was experiencing considerably higher volume since its primary customers were all out of school on holiday.

"Well, look who it is!" their Uncle George exclaimed jovially from behind the counter, "James Potter, I hear you're out looking for work. Trying to quite school already?" The boys laughed.

"No, sir. I'm saving up money for a new broomstick," James explained, helping himself to a chocolate spider from the sample tray, then yelping in pain as it took a large bit out of his thumb. He dropped it on the table and Uncle George smashed it with his fist, revealing a sweet-smelling, pink nougat inside. James picked up the crushed spider and popped it into his mouth with a grin.

"What's wrong with the broomstick you've got there?" Uncle George demanded.

"It's insufficient for my needs," James explained haughtily.

"And what needs might that be?"

"The need to fly faster than Scorpius Malfoy," James explained. Uncle George shook his head disappointedly.

"Now really, James!" he cried, "What sort of talk is that? A great Quidditch player can fly brilliantly on a piece of driftwood if he has to! The broomstick has nothing to do with it!"

"But…" James protested but his uncle wasn't having any of it.

"The broomstick you have there is certainly better than any of the ones we had when we were your age. Do you think your granddad pulled those things out of his ear?" James looked down sheepishly. He hadn't expected to receive a talk down, but he should have seen it coming. His parents also hadn't agreed at first when they were given the opportunity to purchase the broomstick half-price from one of his mother's friends. His mother had grown up playing on broomsticks that ranged from low-end to downright shabby and for the most part, followed her brother's philosophy that it was the skill and talent that made the Quidditch player, not his equipment. His father, on the other hand, had been more reasonable about the matter. He'd always had a nice broomstick to play on and as they could afford it, he didn't see any reason why his son shouldn't have whatever sort of broomstick he wanted. Finally, they reached a compromise. James would be allowed to have the broomstick as long as he was willing to work hard to earn it.

"It's James' money," Albus spoke up suddenly, "Why can't he spend it on a new broom if he wants to?" His uncle gave him an unpleasant look.

"Because, if he can't fly straight on a broom as good as this one, then he doesn't deserve to beat Slytherin, that's why! But that's only my opinion. The little squirt is correct. You've a right to spend your own money however you like." James grinned.

"You're just angry because you've lost a paying customer!" His uncle snorted in response.

"I need to get back to work," he told them, "Teddy!…Oliver!…watch this lot and make sure they don't steal me blind!" The boys laughed as their uncle disappeared into the office behind the counter. Teddy popped into place beside them.

"Hello Potters!" he greeted cheerfully, "What brings you here today?" James pulled the Windrider 3000 from his shoulder and showed it to Teddy.

"How much would you give me for this broom?" James asked. Teddy looked confused.

"We don't buy broomsticks here…" he began to explain.

"I know, I know…" James interrupted, "But if you wanted to buy a broom, how much do you think this one would be worth?"

"Quality Quidditch Supplies only offered him 100 galleons for it," Albus informed him. Teddy furrowed his brow.

"Oh, you could get more than that. Much more, actually. But, James, why on earth are you selling it?"

"Because Slytherin creamed us in the last Quidditch match!" came a voice from above them. The three looked up to discover Uncle George's twin sons, Oliver and Raymond dangling from a precariously high ladder, dusting and sorting the stock on the uppermost shelves.

"Thanks to our little Judas there," acknowledged the other twin as he pointed at Albus in mock accusation. Albus rolled his eyes. He'd reckoned his family would be calling 'traitor' until they buried him. They might even scrawl it on his tombstone.

"I'm looking for a faster model," James explained to Teddy.

"Maybe the problem isn't the broomstick…" teased Oliver. James rolled his eyes again and faced them with his hands on his hips.

"Alright, give me a hard time," he said defiantly, "But then don't complain when I can't catch snitches fast enough to keep our lousy chasers from giving the game away!" The twins looked at each other grimly and Teddy laughed.

"Maybe if you two weren't banned from the pitch for life due to that prank you played in your second year…" The twins grinned mischievously.

"Hey, anyone can play in Quidditch robes," Raymond laughed.

"Yeah, it but it takes real dedication to play in your skivvies!" added Oliver.

"You're both lucky that Slytherin girl's parents didn't sue your parents into indentured servitude."

"I don't know why they would," Raymond argued, "She looked good in her undies! I think everyone was very appreciative."

"And furthermore, how am I supposed to keep up with Malfoy when he's got a professional grade broomstick?" James continued, still bent on justifying himself.

"Well," Teddy responded, "I wouldn't take any less than two-hundred, fifty for this one. You'd be a fool." He handed the broomstick back to James who slung it across his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Albus had caught sight of a curious display in the next room. He headed toward it to investigate, until his face slammed into some invisible barrier, knocking him backward into a display of miniature gnomes that screeched indignantly at his recklessness. The twins high-fived each other jubilantly.

"We never get tired of that!" they chorused.

"What is it?" Albus exclaimed as he clumsily tried to replace the gnome display.

"Fake doorways," Teddy explained, "One of our newest items." Albus grinned in approval, despite his soreness.

"How much?"

"Two galleons for one, ten for a pack of six," Teddy exclaimed.

"Here," called Oliver as he dug through a basket of broken items that was hanging from the ladder and tossed two packages to James.

"Consider these a free sample," he said.

"Are you kidding me?" Teddy exclaimed, "You two are trying to get me sacked!"

"No, it's fine," Oliver assured him, "We had to mark them out-of-stock because Raymond farted on them." James snorted with laughter and handed them to Albus, who pocketed them. Teddy shook his head, but he couldn't help but smile. It was a wonder George Weasley was able to make any money at all with the three of them working there.

Once out in the cold air again, they sat down on a bench. Albus explored the bag of tricks he'd acquired and James examined his broomstick thoughtfully.

"I wonder how much Sutherland meant to offer me," he thought aloud.

"Maybe we could find him and see," Albus suggested, "Where is this place?"

"Not far from here," James answered cryptically as he pulled the card Sutherland had given him from his pocket.

"Where?" Albus persisted.

"Down a ways, past Gringott's."

"Past Gringott's? The Alley ends at Gringott's."

"Well, it isn't on Diagon Alley exactly, but it's pretty close." Albus folded his arms.

"How close?" he demanded.

"It's just one street over, actually."

"Knock-turn Alley?" Albus exclaimed in disbelief, "We can't go there!"

"Why not? It's barely a ten minute walk."

"Dad would kill us!"

"He never said we can't go down Knock-turn Alley."

"He specifically said for us to stay in Diagon Alley."

"No," James argued slyly, "He specifically said he would _prefer_ if we stayed in Diagon Alley. And, if you'll recall the context of that conversation, we were discussing going to a muggle park and he said he didn't want us wandering around the city alone. We wouldn't be wandering the city. We'd just be visiting one specific shop on one specific street that is only one block over from where he left us."

"But Knock-turn Alley is…" Albus stopped. He'd never actually been to Knock-turn Alley before, but he knew it had a reputation for being a seedy part of town where all manner of underhanded activity went on.

"How many people do you know who've been attacked or killed in Knockturn Alley." Albus shrugged.

"None," he admitted, "But most of my acquaintances don't really go to places like that." James snorted.

"Oh, come off that right now!" he said irritably and elbowed Albus in the ribs, "Slytherin! Probably everyone in your house goes there. Your best mate, Malfoy, probably goes three times a week! They might all be there at this moment having some sort of criminal get-together and wondering what on earth is keeping Albus!" Albus gave his brother a shove and James shoved him back so hard that he landed on the curb. Albus got to his feet indignantly and glared at his brother.

"Look, obviously Sutherland is there all the time, if he's got a job there. And what about that other kid that's in your house? His dad owns the place! If they can come and go, then it's probably perfectly safe."

"But, they're older than we are. Roth is a seventh year and Sutherland said he's engaged to be married."

"That doesn't mean anything. Pure-bloods get engaged before they're potty trained."

"That's not true!" Albus cried.

"Sure it is," James insisted, "Their parents have them betrothed as soon as possible, so they can ensure their bloodline stays pure. Everyone knows that." Albus sighed. He could tell there was no point in arguing any further. James had made up his mind.

Somehow, the winter air seemed a little sharper in Knockturn Alley. The street was narrower and even though the buildings weren't especially tall, the entire thoroughfare seemed to be in some sort of gloomy shadow. The witches and wizards that were going about their business there seemed cold and didn't smile or make eye contact as they passed. Despite James' contention that the place was likely filled to the brim with Slytherin youth, they saw no other children amid the strange, broken-down shops and stalls.

Albus was glad that the address they were seeking was only a short way down from the end. Roth's shop was located in a narrow building which seemed to have a flat above the store front. It stood out amid the gloomy alleyway due to the recent paint job and the small group of wizards gathered around a large cauldron that was blazing with blue flame. A few of them looked curiously at the two boys as they inched their way past but no one spoke to them.

"Hello?" James called into the resonant chamber. The room was tall and round and lit by a eerie glow from a gas light fixture hanging in the center. The walls were covered with shelves, many of them empty, some filled with ancient looking books and magical artifacts. The floor in the middle of the room was cluttered with crates of varying sizes, the bulk of which was covered with a clean, white tarp.

A girl their own age was sitting one crate, pulling and sorting ancient books from another. She was thin and pale. Her frizzy, brown hair had caught up a lot of the dust that was coming off the books she was sorting. She was dressed in the sort of formal robes most wizarding youth reserved for weddings, funerals, and other ceremonious events. The exception being Scorpius, who was generally expected to wear formal robes unless he went outside, in which case, he was allowed what his mother called "play clothes". The girl before them looked up curiously as they entered. Albus thought she looked as though she was the tiniest bit afraid of them.

"I'm sorry…we haven't opened yet," she said softly.

"We don't want to buy anything," James explained, "We're looking for Cesar Sutherland." Her face brightened slightly.

"That's my brother. He's upstairs now. They're having a meeting." The fact was confirmed by the sudden sound of several chairs scraping on the floor above their heads as if everyone had gotten up from their seats at once.

"They'll probably be done soon," the Sutherland girl told them. She smiled shyly. "If you'd like to wait, you can." She seemed quite hopeful that they would. Albus looked at James, who nodded. The girl smiled even bigger, showing off uneven teeth. She hopped down from her crate and quickly pulled the white tarp away from another large crate and pulled it away from the pile.

"Here, you can sit down," she offered eagerly. The boys took a seat on the crate and the girl beamed at them before returning to her work.

"What are your names?" the girl asked them.

"I'm Albus Potter, and this is my brother, James." The girl looked very impressed.

"How is it you know my brother?"

"We just met him on the street," James explained, "He said he might be interested in buying my old broomstick." The girl smiled again euphorically. Albus wondered if she was a bit daft or just extremely lonesome. He smiled back at her politely.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Rhiannon Sutherland."

"How old are you?"

"Just fourteen."

"I don't think I've ever seen you at Hogwarts before. Are you a witch?" James asked indelicately. Rhiannon didn't seem to be insulted, though. She giggled at the question.

"Of course, I'm a witch! I'm from the Sutherland and the Goyle families. My family can trace its magical roots over forty generations!"

"That's…interesting," Albus responded, quite happy that Rhiannon didn't seem to notice the disgusted look on his brother's face.

"Do you think so?" she asked, smiling brightly at him.

"Well, it's nice to know all your ancestors."

"Mr. Rath is the head of a genealogical society. He knows the pedigree of almost every witch and wizard in Britain!" she confided in them. She slid down off her crate once more and went quickly to the counter where she disappeared. Albus and James glanced at each other uneasily. She then reemerged, struggling under the weight of an enormous book, which she flung onto the countertop with much effort.

"Look at this!" she invited them excitedly as she opened the huge volume. The boys rose hesitantly and joined her at the counter.

"This is my father's family," she explained, pointing at the page, "Everyone's name is in blue, which means they were a witch or wizard." She turned the pages until she found what she was looking for.

"Here, this person's mother is a muggle. See, her name's in brown." She turned the page again.

"And this person is a squib. His name's in green." She turned the pages again.

"Here, look. This is your page!"

Albus and James leaned over the counter to look at the names of centuries worth of Potters. At the top were the oldest generations, which included a dozen names. As they scanned down the page, the number of names in each generations grew into scores. Then as one went further down the list, the number of names in a generation became smaller and smaller, until the final four generations, which listed only a single wizard's name, and that of his wife. At the very bottom, they discovered their own names and that of their sister. Nearly every name on the list was blue, except that of their grandmother, Lily Evans, which was a lavender color. James temporarily forgot that he wasn't interested in Rhiannon's creepy, prejudiced book and tapped Lily Evans' name, asking, "What does this color mean?" Suddenly, pages began to turn on their own, landing on a nearly blank page. Rhiannon laughed again.

"Whoops! Tapping the name makes the book change to that person's pedigree. Violet means that person is the first known witch or wizard in their bloodline. They're the ones Mr. Roth finds the most fascinating. He likes to research them and find out their ancestry and where their magical gifts come from. Witches and wizards from all over Britain have come to him for help sorting out their bloodlines."

"But our grandmother was muggle-born. She didn't have any magical ancestry," Albus protested.

"Well, it must have come from somewhere. Look." She pointed to another violet name on the 'Evans' page; Dudley Michael Dursley III.

"There it's popped up again in the same bloodline," she said confidently, "Obviously, there has to be a connection somewhere."

"There's always a connection," came a raspy voice from behind her.

"Mr. Rath!" Rhiannon greeted, "I was just showing these boys your book. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, my dear," the man replied. Despite the term of endearment, Mr. Rath seemed quite cold and steel-like to Albus. Several other witches and wizards were milling out of the doorway behind him, which seemed to lead to the upstairs room where they'd been meeting.

"Are you boys interested in finding out more about your heritage?" Mr. Roth asked them, "I've been studying wizarding pedigrees for over twenty years now! During the second war, the ministry charged all muggle-born witches and wizards with stealing magical gifts! Can you imagine that?" The boys' eyes widened. It was indeed a preposterous claim.

"So, hundreds of muggle-borns were suddenly put in the position of having to prove their magical heritage to avoid going to prison for doing something that every person with a thought in his head knows is impossible. They came to me in droves. Nowadays, they don't have to worry about Azkaban anymore, but they still seek my help for other reasons."

"Why would it matter to people now?" James asked him.

"Well, every now and then I come across a person who has been required to produce their lineage for the parents of a prospective bride or groom. But that's becoming less and less frequent. A lot of people are simply curious, especially muggle-borns. They want to know where they came from and they aren't prepared to accept the widely held, politically correct notion that magical abilities randomly floated out of the cosmos and landed upon them in infancy." The younger Roth chuckled flippantly as he stood beside his father.

"But there _are_ witches and wizards who have no magic in their families," James argued, "It happens all the time." Albus knew he was thinking of their Aunt Hermoine, who was born to two muggle dentists. Mr. Roth gave James a steely look.

"So, they say," he conceded, "And those who say that are free to do so. Personally, I say it's rot and no less ridiculous than the former Deatheater contention that muggle-borns are magic thieves. Still, I can understand how many muggle-borns would be more comfortable with that point of view and why they would prefer not to consider the far more obvious and logical explanations for their magical abilities."

"What are those?" James demanded. Roth Junior laughed again.

"Well obviously, either they or someone in their family doesn't know who their real daddy is!" he explained. The boys looked at each other in horror at the scandalous accusation.

"Not the most tactful way to put it," Mr. Roth corrected his son, "But, yes, that is one of the more frequent findings of my investigations." Albus was about to ask what the other findings were when he noticed two familiar faces in the small crowd of witches and wizards still gathered in the shop.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Blanchette," Albus greeted warmly. The two stopped and stared at Albus in surprise. He could tell that they were having trouble placing him.

"I'm Albus Potter, Scorpius' friend from school. I met you at Malfoy Manor." The Blanchettes eyes widened in alarm, as did Mr. Rath's.

"Albus?" Mrs. Blanchette whispered, "What exactly do you think you are doing?" Albus was confused by the greeting. The Blanchettes had been very open and welcoming when they'd first met him.

"I…I came with my brother. We met a boy who wanted to buy his broomstick. He said he worked here."

"Do your parents know that you're here?" she asked him.

"Er…not exactly. Our dad told us to stay in Diagon Alley, but we…"

"And that's exactly where you should be!" she interrupted, "Knock-turn Alley isn't any place for two boys…like you." Albus looked at James sheepishly.

"Darling, I'm going to escort these boys back to Gringott's," she informed her husband who nodded his approval.

"Take care, young man," Mr. Blanchette told Albus, "And do try to stay safe!"

Mrs. Blanchette hurried the two boys though the thoroughfare. She went surprisingly fast for a woman of her age and they had to be careful not to twist their ankles on the cobblestones.

"Honestly, two boys your age ought to know better…" she scolded them, "Knockturn Alley isn't a proper place for children to be exploring as it is, and then given who your parents are…well, let's just be glad that nothing happened to you this time."

"We didn't think it would be a big deal," Albus replied weakly, "Doesn't Scorpius ever go to Knockturn Alley?" She shot him a stern look.

"I don't know what Scorpius has been telling you, but I assure you he does not frequent Knockturn Alley, and in fact, he has never stepped foot in the place!" They came around a bend and stopped across the road from Gringott's Bank.

"Now, do try to be good boys and stay where your parents put you!" she pleaded with them.

"Yes, ma'am," Albus said remorsefully and James echoed him reluctantly. With that, she left them, returning to her husband and the Raths.

"If it's such a horrid place, what was she doing there?" James demanded once she was out of sight. It was a good question and Albus had no answer.

"Where do you pick up these crazies, Al?" Albus shrugged.

"Just lucky, I guess." James rolled his eyes.

"Well, I guess I'm not going to unload this broom for a fair price today. It's nearly noon. Let's go meet Dad."


	3. New Year

Albus and James agreed to keep their adventure in Knock-turn Alley to themselves, though the encounter with the Raths had filled Albus' head with questions that he was itching to discuss with his father. A couple of days passed and Harry and Ginny Potter received an invitation from Ron and Hermoine Weasley to join them on an evening out to celebrate New Year's Eve. The Weasley children were going to spend the evening with their mother's parents, the Grangers, who resided in a flat that boasted a spacious balcony perfectly situated to view the New Year fireworks display. The Potter's children were welcome to join them.

Ginny was somewhat reluctant to leave her progeny in the care of muggle strangers, mostly out of concern for the welfare of her sister-in-law's parents. However, her brother insisted that the Grangers were fully aware of the children's' magical abilities, that the four older children were certainly old enough to look after themselves for a few hours, and that even if they weren't, Hugo, the youngest, was easily responsible enough to keep the rest of them in line. Therefore, the Potter children were packed up and shipped via the Floo Network to spend a muggle-style holiday with their cousins.

Wilbur and Frances Granger's home was pleasant, if a little cramped with so many visitors inside. Upon arrival, the Potter children were introduced to Rose and Hugo's grandmother and grandfather, as well as their great-grandmother who sat quiet grandly in an armchair, her blue eyes glazed over.

"Don't worry about magic talk in front of Nana," Rose whispered to them, "She doesn't see or hear very well anymore and even if she did, she'd soon forget whatever she saw!" As if to illustrate her point, Rose went to her great-grandmother and offered from a crystal dish full of candy.

"Would you care for a cherry cordial, Nana?" she asked loudly. Nana gazed at Rose with tenderness and patted her on the arm.

"Thank you, lovely," she cooed, "God love you, what was your name again?" Hugo chortled in the corner.

"I'm Rose, Nana," Rose explained, trying to contain her indignation, "I'm Hermione's daughter, Rose."

"Are you now? Well, you're just as lovely as can be!"

Rose and Hugo's granddad lit the fire pit on the balcony and their grandma wrapped them in blankets and they sat out on the balcony, sipping cocoa with marshmallows and enjoying the colorful noise from the street festival below. Granddad Weasley skewered some apples and allowed the children to roast them over the pit and dip them into cinnamon and sugar. Despite the cold, it was a very pleasant evening.

"It's getting rather too frigid out here for me," Grandma Weasley said after a time, "I think I'll go in and tend to the eggnog. Would anyone like more cocoa?" Several hands shot into the air and she laughed.

"Rosie, would you collect some of these mugs?" Rose began to pick up the mugs and place them on a tray and Albus stood to help her. They followed Rose's grandmother into the tiny kitchen and had a seat at the table, which was covered with books. Rose picked up one and opened it to reveal page after page of fuzzy, black and white photographs. Albus always enjoyed looking at muggle photographs. The subjects always looked funny to him, as if suddenly turned to stone.

"I see you've found the Granger family album, Rosie," her grandmother observed as she emerged from the kitchen with the steaming tray of mugs, "Granddad and I used to look at those every New Year's Eve when your mother was a little girl." She pointed at a photograph of a young man in a dark robe.

"See, here's your grandfather graduating from University. We were married the next year."

"Who are all these people?" Rose asked eagerly. Her grandmother looked over her shoulder.

"This is your grandfather and his younger brothers, when they were teenagers," she explained, "I'm told they were a handful for your poor great-grandmother. Eleven children, she had!"

"Eleven children!" Albus exclaimed, "That's even more than Gran Weasley!" Mrs. Granger flipped to the front of the book, where she found the page which showed the Granger family tree. Rose read off the names of all her great aunts and uncles. Albus was reminded of the peculiar genealogy book Mr. Rath had shown him with all its different colored names. If Rhiannon Sutherland was correct, Mr. Rath would be very interested in the book before them. She'd said he found the family history of muggle-borns to be the most fascinating.

"Here's my mother," Rose declared as she pointed out Hermoine Jane near the left side of the page, "But I'm not on here anywhere!"

"You're absolutely right!" her grandmother replied. She set the tray on the table shakily and produced a pen from a side drawer. Carefully she drew the proper lines and wrote in the names, 'Rose' and 'Hugo'.

"There," she said happily, replacing the cap on the pen, "Now we're all complete!" Rose turned back to a page with a large photograph, showing her great-grandmother and father, with their brood of eleven children. She studies their faces.

"Which one of these is granddad?" she asked finally. Her grandmother examined the photograph for a long time and finally pointed to one of the youngest boys, the second from the right.

"There he is." Rose looked sharply at the little boy in the picture.

"Are you sure? He looks really different from these teenage pictures."

"Well, dear, some children change quite a lot as they grow." She gingerly removed the photograph from the frame and flipped it over so Rose could read the back. The note on the back identified the little boy as 'Wilbur, age three'. Rose seemed perplexed by something.

"Come on dears, let's get these mugs out to the others before they get cold!" Rose's grandmother lifted the tray once more and carried it out to the balcony. They followed behind her, Rose still carrying the picture album. As her grandmother disappeared behind the sliding door, Albus watched as his cousin knelt beside Nana and held the book open on her lap. She pointed to the photograph of her three-year-old grandfather.

"Who is this, Nana?" she whispered. Nana's blank, blue eyes followed her gesture to the little boy in the photograph and Albus watched as the elderly woman's face filled with warmth and lucidity.

"Why, that's my Wilbur!" she exclaimed lovingly, "He was such a dear little boy!" Rose smiled and leant over to examine the picture again.

"He was always up to something, though!" Nana Granger continued, "Always giving me nasty frights! I'll always have nightmares about the day he was hit by that car and we thought we were going to lose him!"

"Hit by a car?" Rose exclaimed, horrified, "When did that happen?"

"When he was about nine or so," she told her, "It was in the summertime and the boys were crossing the street without looking first. Our neighbor had a motorcar and we rushed him to the hospital as quickly as we could. That doctor nearly killed me when he told me my boy wasn't going to live!"

"But he survived anyway?" Rose asked.

"He did indeed! Those doctors don't know so much. Sometimes, there are miracles." Rose turned the pages of the album again, examining the photographs of her grandfather in his childhood. Albus couldn't understand the deep frown on her face. Suddenly, they were interrupted by her grandfather, coming in from the balcony.

"It's nearly midnight," he called to them cheerfully, "You don't want to miss the fireworks, do you?" He went to his mother's side and helped her to her feet.

"Come on, mother," he said as he guided her toward the balcony, "You don't want to miss the turning of the new year!" She looked at him blankly.

"Thank you, dear. What was your name again?" Mr. Granger just laughed and they made their way out on to the balcony.

"Granddad?" Rose asked once they had settled, "Nana said you were nearly killed in a car accident as a boy. Is that true?" He looked surprised at the question but he nodded.

"Do you remember what it was like?" she asked.

"Only bits and pieces of the actual accident. I frequently used to have nightmares about it. I would dream I woke up in the hospital with no idea where I was or how I got there. It was terrifying! Even now, at times, I wake up and have that sickening feeling that I'm not where I'm supposed to be, even in my own room!" He smiled at her and place his arm around his wife's shoulders, "But then I see your grandmother and I remember that I'm right where I'm supposed to be."

It was nearly two hours later when the children's parents returned from their night out. Hugo and Lily were passed out on either sides of the loveseat and Mr. Granger had just returned from taking his mother home to the Aged Adult Centre.

"I hope they weren't any trouble for you," Ginny said nervously.

"No," Mrs. Granger assured her, "They were as good as gold!"

"Let me help you with the dishes, Mum," Hermoine offered.

"Oh, don't fuss, dear…" her mother began, but with a flick of her wand, the dishes were already splashing in and out of the sink, spinning themselves dry, and sorting themselves into the cupboard. In a minute, the entire kitchen was spotless and Mrs. Granger beamed at her daughter.

"Mummy, look at this picture," Rose began.

"Oh, Rosie, we need to get home. It'll be sunrise before you know it! Where are your brother's shoes?"

"But, Mum, I want to show you something…"

"I've seen those albums dozens of times before, dear…" Rose looked a little deflated and her grandmother made a suggestion.

"Why don't you borrow that album, dear? You can look at it with your mother some other time." Rose brightened at the suggestion.

"Thank you, Grandma!"

When the Potters returned sleepily home from their evening out, there was a considerably pile of envelopes accumulated on the breakfast table, all bearing the seal of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"No!" Harry moaned, "You have to be kidding!" His family knew it was serious, however, and that fact was confirmed in their father's expression as he opened the seal of the top envelope and read the message inside.

"No…" he wailed again.

"I'll go and fix a breakfast to go with you," his wife said comfortingly, "Kids, it's time for bed! Say 'good-night' to daddy." James said 'good-night' and went up to his room sleepily. Lily caught their father in a hug.

"Will you take me up to my room, daddy?" she asked playfully as Harry continued to frown at the message from his work. He smiled at her, and set the envelope back on the table.

"Of course!" he told her and he picked her up in a bear hug and carried her up the stairs. Albus followed them silently.

"You're getting much too big for this, my girl," Harry told his daughter who responded with a muffled, "No, I'm not…"

Albus watched silently from the corridor as his father placed Lily in her bed and changed her into her nightgown with a flick of his wand. Lily kissed him and crawled under the covers. They had a brief conversation in whispers before his father flicked out the light and quickly walked through the corridor to his own room. Albus followed him and watched as he began removing his cufflinks and tie and rummaging around in a wardrobe for a clean shirt, all the while grumbling to himself about having been called away from his family yet again.

"Dad?" Albus asked and his father looked up at him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Al," his father said with a smile, "Good-night, dear…"

"I was wondering about something…" Albus told him.

"What's that?" his father asked through a yawn as he cast a de-wrinkling charm on a clean, white shirt.

"Why is Buddy a wizard when neither of his parents are?"

"It just happens that way sometimes," his father explained.

"Uncle Dudley didn't seem very surprised about it. Is that because he knew magic was in his family?"

"I reckon he was quite surprised, Albus. I don't think he expected it at all. Neither of his parents had magical abilities, nor Aunt Kathy's."

"But, his aunt did…and you. Were your grandparents upset when they found out your mother was a witch?"

"Not as far as know. The one time Aunt Petunia spoke of it, she said they were very proud."

"Don't you think that might mean that they already knew it was possible? Perhaps they knew magic ran in their family, just the way Buddy's dad did?" Harry stopped fussing with his tie and looked at his son with a concerned expression.

"I reckon that's a possibility…"

"Well then, perhaps she wasn't really completely 'muggle-born' at all!" Albus considered excitedly.

"Albus, whether or not magic runs in a person's family has no bearing on how good a witch or wizard they are. You know that, don't you? Some of the very best are muggle-born!"

"I know that, but, what if they really aren't muggle-born? Maybe they had magic in their bloodline and they didn't know it? What if there's no such thing as 'muggle-born'? Then how could anyone think they aren't real witches and wizards?" His father smiled.

"Well, unfortunately, that isn't the case. We know there are muggle-born witches and wizards. Think of your Aunt Hermoine. They know for a fact that there wasn't any witches or wizards in her ancestry!" Albus began to protest, then stopped. He didn't know if he should say anything about the photographs and Rose's great-grandmother's story.

"My dear, I need to leave for work, now," his father said, "And you need to go to bed." Albus nodded sleepily. His father took his shoulder and led him down the corridor to his bedroom door.

"Good-night, son." he whispered, so as not to wake Lily or James.

"Good-night," he replied and watched as his father crept exhaustedly down the back staircase and into the kitchen.


	4. School Resumes

Days passed, and before long, the students were returning to Hogwarts to finish out the school year. All in all, it had been a restful holiday after a tumultuous beginning to the school year and Albus was anxious to see how everyone was getting along. At first, he'd been thrilled to have two weeks to spend at home with his family, but as presents were unwrapped and the festivities came to a close, he found he missed his schoolmates. He began to wonder about Jeremy Wright; if he'd passed his exams and if he would be waiting at Hogwarts when the other students returned. He also worried about Sarah Vineyard, who had managed, in just one school tern, to get herself into bigger trouble that most witches aspire to during their whole life. He wondered if she'd been expelled and what would become of her, if so. And of course, he was looking forward to seeing his housemates; Jesse, Donner, Malcom, and Scorpius. Despite all their faults, Albus had grown to appreciate their company and their finer qualities.

It was strange, but it seemed to him that they saw him in a way no one else did, especially Scorpius. Even though they hadn't know each other very long, he and Scorpius seemed to have a natural connection. Perhaps it was because they shared the burden of inherited expectations which blinded others, even those to whom they were closest, to who they really were. When Scorpius was around, he didn't seem to see Albus as just a "new Harry Potter", "Another Weasley", or even, "James' Younger Brother". Albus was simply, "Albus", and he wondered if Scorpius didn't feel the same way about him. After all, the stigma of being the "Son-of-a-Deatheater" had to be even more tiresome than what Albus dealt with!

The return to school on the Hogwarts Express was surprisingly quiet. The students had mostly gone feral over the holiday and many of them were catching up on their sleep as the train rocked along thorough the drippy, dreary mid-winter toward school, the place of order and civilization. James, Albus, Freddy, and Rose sat together in a compartment, but spent most of the trip gazing contently out of the window and dozing off.

Albus was slightly alarmed not to find Scorpius on the train, but his concerns were washed away once they stepped into the great hall and found him sitting at the Slytherin table, speaking with Donner and Malcolm. He smiled at Albus as he approached and sat down.

"Where were you?" Albus demanded.

"I was right here."

"Why weren't you on the train?"

"Father brought me up the day before yesterday. My mother is still in Belgium with her family and he has a mess of work to do. If I'd stayed locked up in the house with my grandfather, one of us wasn't going to make it out alive!" Albus chuckled in response. The table began to get more and more crowded as the students began piling in. Albus noticed the presence of Jeremy Wright amongst the first years.

"I guess Wright managed to pass his mid-terms," he commented. Scorpius turned and glanced in Wright's direction.

"I reckon so. He must have done alright over the holiday. They let him come back to the table, anyway." Wright had spent a great deal of the previous term sitting at the seclusion table, due to his high level of aggression and unwillingness to conform to social boundaries.

"Maybe he's going to act right now," Donner suggested unenthusiastically.

"He's an awful mess," Albus said, "My dad says he'd going to need lots of encouragement if he's going to go anywhere in life besides prison."

"Grandfather says he needs a good belt across his backside," declared Scorpius.

"Well, the old man could be right for once in his life," Malcolm provided.

"Potter's dad is making us be friendly to him," Scorpius informed him. Donner snorted and Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"I'll be friendly…if he quits trying to kill everyone he sees! And since when does Potter's dad tell you what to do, Malfoy?" Scorpius shrugged.

"He's the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement! Are you going to tell him 'no'?"

"Scorpius doesn't have to do what my dad tells him," Albus corrected, "It's just a good idea."

"If you ask me, putting a whole lot of air between that goon and myself is an even better one!" Malcolm insisted and Donner nodded his agreement.

Finally, all the students were in the hall and the meal was served. Albus glanced over at the Hufflepuff table.

"Sarah Vineyard's not there," Albus observed sadly.

"No," Scorpius confirmed with a grim expression, "She hasn't been. I was hoping she'd be on the train. I guess she was expelled after all."

"Expelled?" Malcolm exclaimed, "Why would she be expelled?" Albus and Scorpius exchanged alarmed looks. They were the only students who knew that Sarah Vineyard had bound the spell that had nearly killed several of their classmates.

"Er…maybe she didn't pass her mid-terms…" Scorpius lied.

"Please," Donner responded sarcastically, "If Wright managed, I'm sure Vineyard passed. She's probably just off somewhere having another crying fit!" Albus and Scorpius tactfully absorbed themselves into their dinners and didn't say anymore about it.

The next morning, classes resumed and the second years found themselves in a mountain of schoolwork again. Unsurprisingly, Professor Schlegel instantly determined that his students had been slacking off during his extended period of convalescence and overloaded them with extra essays and study time with a notable attitude of venom. Also unsurprisingly, his wrath knew no mercy on Albus and Scorpius, despite the fact that they'd saved his miserable life not three weeks earlier. Herbology, however, had become much more enjoyable now that Professor Longbottom was making a concerted effort not to scold or punish Scorpius at every opportunity. He even awarded Slytherin five points when Scorpius was first to finish deseeding his Krumpkweed pods.

It was the second day of resumed classes when Scorpius rounded a corner and nearly toppled over a distressed-looking Sarah Vineyard.

"Sarah!" he exclaimed, "Your back!" Sarah's visage changed to a nervous smile as she recognized her friend. It melted away again as soon as Scorpius asked her why she hadn't been on the train with the other students.

"I had to go to the doctor," Sarah whispered uncertainly as she lowered her eyes to the floor.

"The doctor?" he persisted, "Why ever would a witch ever go to a doctor?"

"I's sick…" she mumbled almost incoherently.

"But the Healers at St. Mungo's…" Scorpius began to insist but Sarah suddenly pushed past him and hurried down the corridor. Scorpius watched her go with confusion and worry.

Later that evening, Scorpius observed Sarah in much better spirits, walking briskly beside her house prefect, who'd been making a deliberate attempt all year at helping Sarah feel at home. Sarah was proudly showing her a colorful, plastic necklace, the kind which a child would make.

"Did you notice that Vineyard is back?" he asked Albus as he took his usual seat beside him in the great hall. Albus craned his neck to look at the Hufflepuff table and smiled when he caught sight of Sarah.

"I guess she gets to stay after all!" he said with relief.

"I was wondering what kept her," Scorpius told his friend, "She said she had to see a doctor." Albus furrowed his brow.

"A doctor? Why would she see a doctor?" Scorpius shrugged.

"I think she might have been lying about it. I think maybe it was just an excuse." Albus shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe it is. Maybe the real reason she was late is something personal she didn't want you to know." Scorpius didn't seem satisfied.

"Maybe…but…What if something bad happened to her?"

"Like what?" Scorpius looked down, conflicted about what to say. Sarah hadn't sworn him to secrecy or anything, but he knew that the dream she'd shared with him was meant to be kept to himself He didn't know how to voice his concerns to Albus without betraying her confidence.

"I don't know…just something bad." Albus looked over at the Hufflepuff table where Sarah sat beaming at the two older students who sat on either side of her.

"Well, she looks alright to me," Albus concluded, "And it isn't as if she's in any danger at Hogwarts." Scorpius sighed and returned his physical attention to his meal, despite the fact that he couldn't get his mind to stop worrying about Sarah.

Later, he found her sitting alone in the library, her tiny frame dwarfed even more by the piles of books on the table.

"Did you have a nice Christmas?" he asked her in a whisper. Sarah looked up from her book and smiled at him. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a muggle toy. It was a plastic figurine of a spotted dog, which fit into a purple and pink doghouse. Sarah showed him how when she 'rubbed' it with a magnetic brush, its ears and tail began to wiggle. Scorpius smiled enthusiastically even though he found it to be a rather infantile toy for a girl Sarah's age.

"I got this too!" she whispered, pulling the long collection of plastic beads from under her robes and handing them to Scorpius. He examined the necklace. It was a pattern of pink, purple, and yellow plastic beads, punctuated by larger, brightly-colored butterfly charms. There was one charm in particular that was larger than the rest and Scorpius realized that it opened to reveal a photograph of a little girl. Though the child in the picture was smiling and wearing her school uniform, Scorpius recognized her as the traumatized girl from Sarah's dream.

"Who is this?" Scorpius asked, trying to sound politely curious and not nosey.

"That's my sister, Dinah," Sarah explained happily, "She made me this for Christmas!" Scorpius handed it back to her and as she looked at the picture of her sister, the gloom settled into her face once more.

"I didn't want to leave her alone…" she whispered sadly. Scorpius didn't know what to say, so he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"I wish I didn't have to leave her," Sarah complained, her eyes brimming with tears, "Who will keep her safe when I'm not home?" Scorpius knew even less what to say. He wanted to ask why it was Sarah didn't think her sister was safe in her own home.

"Don't worry," he replied at last, "She'll be coming to Hogwarts too, before you know it." Sarah shook her head sadly and placed the necklace around her neck. Scorpius pulled a chair up and sat down beside.

"Sarah, are you afraid the man in your dream will hurt Dinah?" Sarah looked up at him with her eyes wide, then shook her head.

"No," she insisted with a tinge of anger, "He's gone."

"Did he die?" Scorpius asked gently.

"No, he left," she insisted vehemently, "And he'd never coming back. I made him go. That's why my mum hates me." She looked down and tears streamed down her face.

"She hates that I do magic. She's afraid of me. But I had to do it. I had to make him go."

"Was he your father?" Scorpius asked her softly. Sarah shook her head.

"I don't have a father."

"Did he die?"

"No."

"What happened to him?"

"I don't have a father." Scorpius didn't know what to make of that statement. He knew that Sarah absolutely had to have a father. Every creature on earth had a father but he decided not to press the issue.

"But, if the man from your dream isn't coming back, why are you worried about Dinah?" To his surprise, Sarah's face filled with sudden, uncharacteristic anger.

"Because they'll be a new one. There's always a new one." Scorpius thought he understood now and he was filled with sympathy for Sarah.

Later that evening, he made his way into the common room.

"You're past your hour, Mr. Malfoy," commented the portrait of the old potions master that hung over the mantle, "First and second years are to be in their house common room or dormitories by nine o'clock in the evening.

"You can't tell me what to do, you're a painting!" he retorted irritably. The portrait's eyes narrowed.

"I only observe that loosing house point for tardiness is hardly the best start to a new year." Scorpius rolled his eyes.

"I was taking a walk and I'm only seven minutes late. Schlegel isn't taking points off his own house for seven measly minutes!"

"Quite right, Mr. Malfoy," came the voice of his head-of-house, who had apparently been sitting inconspicuously in the corner during the entire exchange, "But nine o'clock is nine o'clock." Schlegel gestured for his student to approach him and Scorpius slunk red-faced between the twin sneers of Schlegel and Snape.

"Now, what to do with you? It so happens that I have seven cauldrons that I used to reduce wrathwax root serum today. Nasty stuff, that. It won't be charmed off. It has to be scrubbed off using a special potion that smells like a cross between frying grease and rotten squid. You can make up your time doing that tomorrow. One cauldron per minute late. Now, that's fair isn't it?" Scorpius didn't think it was fair at all but he had the sense not to say so.

"Go to bed," his teacher directed and Scorpius did as he was told.


	5. The Detention

As the Slytherins were dismissed from their potions lab, Scorpius informed Albus that he'd been assigned a detention.

"For what?" Albus asked in surprise.

"For seven minutes," Scorpius grumbled as he scooped up his books and presented himself at the lectern.

"I'm here for my seven cauldrons," he announced with mocked cheerfulness. His teacher glared at him, clearly unimpressed, as he attempted to warm his hands over the blue flames of his cauldron. His classroom was always frigid in the winter.

Professor Schlegel was the youngest of their instructors. His dark hair and beard contrasted with his cold, steely eyes. He would have been a handsome man but for the nearly constant expression of disgust on his face. He had a number of nervous habits, the most obnoxious included constantly rapping his wand on various surfaces as he paced around the classroom and biting at his nails when he thought no one was looking. He seemed to derive no enjoyment whatsoever from his students, only rejoicing in their achievements when they beat another house in one contest or another. Scorpius wondered why he didn't quit the profession of education and go into some less-stressful line of work before he gave himself an anxiety attack. His only attributes as a teacher were a notable passion for potion making and a formidable, if somewhat twisted, sense of humor. Scorpius also reasoned that he was generally fair in that he didn't play favorites. He seemed to hate all of his students with an admirable equality.

He strode to the cupboard and selected a large green vial with a sealed stopper as well as a box of old rags. These he handed to Scorpius and he gestured toward several stacks of cauldrons on a countertop in the corner.

"Off you go," he dismissed him and Scorpius approached the pile hesitantly.

"I thought you said there were seven," he complained edgily.

"What's your point?" his teacher demanded as he hung his muffler from a peg on the back of the door. Scorpius rolled his eyes and didn't respond. Schlegel's back was turned and he didn't notice. When he'd turned round and stood over him with crossed arms, Scorpius gingerly unplugged the stopper. The stench of the agent inside nearly made him retch.

"Well, you'd best get on with it," Schlegel suggested, "You don't want to miss your lunch."

"Where are you going?" Scorpius demanded.

"I'm going to have my lunch obviously. I wasn't the one who flew my broomstick down the corridor."

"What broomstick? I came into the common room seven minutes past nine," Scorpius corrected bitterly.

"Whatever. Get to work." Scorpius sighed at the injustice and began to scrub. After only a few seconds, he could barely keep his watery eyes open from the stench. He covered his nose and mouth with his muffler as he went at the filthy cauldrons. He was nearly halfway done with the first when the door to the classroom came open with a crash and Schlegel burst into the room hauling Jeremy Wright by the collar and followed by a sullen-looking seventh year. Schlegel left them in the aisle and slammed open the drawer of his desk, searching through the contents for something. Wright sat down noisily and defiantly in a student desk but the older boy remained standing. Scorpius noticed that the front of Wright's robe was covered in mashed potato. Schlegel found a self-inking quill and slammed it flat on the table before Wright along with a piece of parchment.

"Sit!" he commanded, angrily pointing to a table in the far corner. The older boy slunk into the corner and took a seat. Scorpius recognized him as Alonzo Rath.

"I want the most contrite letter of apology I've ever read, Rath!" Schlegel demanded as he supplied him with another quill and parchment.

"Yes, professor," Rath muttered. Schlegel turned to Wright.

"What's 'contrite', sir?" Wright asked him. Schlegel drew his breath sharply and gazed at Wright with an expression of disbelief and revulsion.

"Just write, 'I will not throw food'."

"How many times?" Wright asked him.

"Until that quill runs out of ink!" he exclaimed and he marched out the door, slamming it behind him. His departure was followed by several tense minutes of quill scratching and cauldron scrubbing.

"What is that stink?" Rath exclaimed after awhile. Scorpius looked over sheepishly.

"It's some sort of special cleaning agent that he's making me use on the cauldrons." he explained.

"Eugh! It's rancid!"

"Schlegel said it's the only way to get them clean." Rath covered his face with his hand.

"I think I'd just throw them out! What did you do to get that job?"

"I came to the common room seven minutes late last night," he explained.

"That's it?" Rath exclaimed.

"And I back-talked a portriat." Rath rolled his eyes and tried to concentrate on his letter.

"Oi…Malfoy?" Wright whispered. Scorpius turned around, expecting to hear more complaints of the smell.

"What?"

"Is there a 'g' in throw?" Scorpius' eyebrows raised.

"Of course there isn't!" he whispered back in a somewhat demeaning tone. Rath snickered in the opposite corner. A short time later, Rath broke the silence again.

"I saw your friend in Knockturn Alley, few weeks back." Scorpius looked at him. Rath had a snide way about him. He'd never had a problem with him, but all the same, he had a certain feeling that Rath disliked him for some reason.

"Who?"

"Little Albus Potter."

"Why would he be in Knockturn Alley?" Scorpius asked disbelievingly.

"Why not?"

"Because, people like the Potters don't generally frequent dodgy places like that." Rath frowned at him disapprovingly.

"He was in my father's shop." Scorpius shrugged his shoulders dismissively.

"So, your father's moving up in the world. Attracting rare celebrities…"

"Faster than yours ever will, I dare say!" Rath spat. Scorpius glared at him and Rath glared back.

"Can't say I can see why anyone would be interested in your father's old shop," he said finally.

"You should come down and find out some time, Malfoy."

"What for?"

"Look around. Learn something. Maybe have your genealogy done." The last suggestion was ridiculous to Scorpius. His pedigree was painstakingly recorded back scores of generations on both sides of his family.

"You never know," Rath continued with a deliberately snide timbre, "Maybe my father will find some surprises in your bloodline you didn't know about." Scorpius bristled at the insinuation.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Nothing. It's only that some wizarding families aren't always as pure-blooded as they like people to think they are. My father says…"

"Everyone in my family knows who their daddy is, Rath!" Scorpius spat, "If my grandmother was any prouder of the purity of our family tree she'd have it embroidered on all our knickers!"

"I tell you, don't be so sure. My father can uncover all sorts of secrets with his new methods. He can even trace the families of muggle-borns now. He can trace anyone, no matter how well their secrets are covered up." Scorpius snorted.

"I wish my parents _would_ lie to me about my ancestors. If they were going to claim a family that wasn't their own, I'm pretty sure they would never pick mine."

"He couldn't trace my family," Wright interrupted suddenly. Both Scorpius and his adversary turned around to look at him. They'd forgotten he was there.

"What makes you say that?" Rath asked defensively.

"My mum turned me over to the system," he explained, "I don't even remember what she looked like."

"Do you know her name?" Rath asked him. Wright shook his head begrudgingly.

"If you could find out her name, it'd be much easier," Rath admitted, "But, there's still a good chance. If you're from any of the ancient families, he can find you. Even if there's only one connection." Wright looked back at his paper. Scorpius could tell that he was quite curious about what Rath had to say.

Suddenly, they were interrupted by the return of Schlegel, carrying a lunch tray. Everyone scrambled to look immersed in their work. The potions master gave the boys a disapproving look as he made his way to his desk, set down the tray, and turned on the wireless. His face contorted at the stench in the room and he looked over at Scorpius.

"Aren't you done yet, Malfoy?"

"No, sir."

"Well, how many have you done?"

"Just one, sir," he replied sheepishly. Schlegel sighed in exasperation.

"Get out of here," he demanded, "That smell is killing my appetite." Scorpius scrambled to his feet, corked the bottle, and went to lunch.

Later that evening, Albus and Scorpius made their way into the crowded common room. It was just before dinner and the students were returning from their classes to drop off their school things and get ready for the evening. Professor Schlegel was present amongst the hubbub and was delivering a tirade about how unkempt the common room was getting.

"What are these bottles doing left all over the table? Who brought in butterbeer? Someone had better pick those cushions off the floor and put them back where they go! You girls need to pick up all these little hair thingys! This isn't a beauty salon and whose bloody socks are these? Dwayne, your mother does not work here! How did this burn mark get on the carpet?" The students were scattering left and right trying to avoid his fury.

"Check the bulletin board, Quidditch team!" shouted Octavian Bell, the prefect, when he saw Albus and Scorpius. They scurried over to the board.

"It's the pitch schedule!" Scorpius exclaimed excitedly, "Our next practice is tomorrow, right after breakfast! I hope it won't be too cold."

"Not for you, Malfoy," Schlegel broke in irritably as he yanked some out of date notices from the board as well as someone's lost underpants which had been hung up for a laugh, "You're going to be in the dungeon cleaning the six cauldrons you still owe me!" Scorpius' mouth hung open in disbelief.

"But, you told me to go to lunch!" Scorpius complained.

"Yes, so I could enjoy mine."

"But…professor…it's Quidditch!" he cried in exasperation.

"And they can do without you until you're finished. Perhaps you'll work much faster without Wright and Rath there to distract you." Schlegel strode across the room and deposited the notes and dirty drawers into the fireplace.

"The rest of you had better keep this room reasonable or curfew will be nine o`clock for _everyone_!" The older students groaned while the younger students jeered. With that, he departed for his own quarters. Scorpius let out a wild howl and began kicking the sofa.

"It was…just…seven…bloody…minutes!" he screeched in between blows.

"Calm down, Scorp!" Albus advised him, "You'll just get in more trouble."

"I hate that man!" he seethed. He walked around to the front of the sofa and collapsed into it, tossing a pillow defiantly across the floor.

"Malfoy!" grumbled Jasmine Whitney, the female Slytherin prefect, "Schlegel said to keep this room clean!"

"Schlegel can kiss my hairy big toe!" he responded. Whitney stood over him, hands on hips, and began whacking him with the sofa pillow.

"All right, already! Stop! I'm sorry!" he grumbled amid the hysterical laughter of his housemates. Whitney let up and after replacing the pillow on the sofa she went about her business. Albus sat down beside him. The room was clearing out now that their head of house was gone. Most the students were either getting ready for dinner in their rooms, or already assembling in the great hall. The only students lingering were a large group of girls who were chattily collecting their beauty products from the table and Jeremy Wright, who was slouched in the chair across from them.

"It's only six cauldrons," Albus offered, "You'll be done in no time."

"This is all your fault!" Scorpius accused, looking in the direction of the mantle.

"What? My fault?" Wright exclaimed in outrage.

"No, not yours," Scorpius corrected, "His!" He pointed at the portrait above the mantle. Snape looked down at him with a severe coolness in his eyes.

"I fail to see how. I don't have a curfew."

"You had to say something when I came in! It was only seven minutes! He wouldn't even have noticed if you hadn't been such a big mouth." Snape clicked his tongue in mock sympathy.

"You're so mistreated, Mr. Malfoy. You're going to be the first wizard to have his whole life ruined by a piece of wall art." Scorpius crossed his arms and continued complaining.

"Stupid curfew. Why do we even have to have that rule? I bet the other houses don't have a special curfew for first and second years. Does he think we're little kids?"

"Well, if he could see how mature you're being now, I'm sure he'd see the error of his ways," Snape retorted.

"I can't stand his potions class," Wright added supportively, "I can't understand a word he says half the time!"

"Mr. Wright, I don't think it fair to assign all the blame for that to Professor Schlegel," the portrait responded, "The fact is, you simply aren't very bright."

"Well, he's my teacher!" Wright retorted, "What does that say about him?" Snape rolled his eyes.

"I don't see a point in his class either," Scorpius agreed, "It's only interesting when someone messes up and blows their eyebrows off or something. How is that going to help me in real life? If I want a bloody potion, I'll just go to the apothecary and buy one!" Snape considered the three boys for a moment and said,

"Mr. Malfoy, I'm going to tell you a parable."

"What's a parable?" Scorpius demanded, still sharp over the perceived injustice he'd suffered.

"Probably some sort of lie," responded Wright tartly. Snape shot him a hard look, but otherwise ignored his presence.

"A parable is a story which illustrates a point of morality."

"So, it is a lie," Scorpius concluded.

"Be quiet and listen for once," the portrait commanded coldly, "There was a boy about your age who for the most part was reasonably intelligent and attentive to his studies. However, there was one subject that he did not take at all seriously and that was Appreciation of Magical Music. This boy refused to participate in the class and was often disrespectful to his professor and disruptive to the learning process. When the other students were learning to charm snakes with flutes he rolled his eyes and declared that he thought the whole class was stupid."

"Charm snakes with flutes? That sounds kinda cool!" Albus exclaimed.

"Well this boy thought it was pointless and he was rude to his teacher and got a detention and low marks as a result of it." The boys looked at each other in confusion.

"Is that all?" Scorpius asked.

"That's not a very memorable parable," Albus commented.

"I'm not finished," Snape insisted, "Then the boy grew up. He couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. He became a teacher himself and his own music professor got his inevitable revenge in the form of scores of horrible, rude little children who didn't listen and didn't obey. Then he got bitten by a snake and he died and if you don't listen to your teachers the same may happen to you. The End."

"Now that's more like it," Albus cheered at the justifiable and ironic demise of the immoral music student.

"Is that a real story?" Scorpius asked suspiciously.

"I've already said, it's a parable," Snape's portrait snapped irritably.

"So, it didn't actually happen?"

"It might have happened," Albus argued, "My mum says sometimes legends are based on something real."

"Like what legend?" Scorpius challenged.

"Like my dad's old invisibility cloak," Albus explained, "He says it's the same one in the story of the Deathly Hallows." Scorpius snorted.

"Oh, Merlin's big toe, it is!"

"That's what he says," Albus defended.

"Well, I don't believe it! That story is older than sand!"

"My dad doesn't lie to me," he argued.

"Grownups don't think it's lying if it's a story," Wright commented dryly, "I'm going up to dinner!" He rose from his armchair and made his way through the portal.

"I think it's pot roast tonight," Albus commented as they followed him. Behind them, the portrait of Snape became engrossed in his book once again.


	6. The Contest

One morning, Albus and his cousins, Rose and Buddy, were sitting comfortably in a large opening under the bottom floor of the main stairwell. This had become their regular meeting place during the winter as they couldn't meet in the library, due to noise restrictions, in the courtyard, due to the frigid cold, or in their common rooms, as they were closed to members of other houses. The stairwell, however, provided an ideal location for inter-house conferring and the three of them often met there to talk and study together. Admittedly, there wasn't a lot of space. They had to crouch down when walking around the perimeter of the space. The middle of the circular landing, however, seemed to stretch up to the heavens and as the spiral of the staircase got smaller and smaller above them, the echoes of students' voices could be heard bouncing back and forth on the hard stone. The effect often played tricks on their ears. Sometimes, the three of them would start at the sound of a loud voice right behind them, only to realize that its owner was talking to someone else, several floors above. Old crates served as furniture and a lantern charmed with bright blue flames provided ample light and warmth. The only door on that sub-floor was locked and never saw any visitors and Rose reasoned it was probably only used for storage. From time to time, however, their solace would be disrupted by someone who'd dropped something down the stairwell, either on accident or on purpose, and came down to retrieve it . Freddy had discovered their hiding place and often lost his hat or scarf down the middle as an excuse to "see what they were up to".

On this particular morning, the three were engaged in some last minute cramming for their potions theory quiz when they were interrupted by a large purple blob, descending from above, which burst upon impact on the stone floor and splattered the space with a purple, sweet-smelling ink.

"Eugh!" Buddy exclaimed, having received the blunt of the explosion on the back of his robes.

"Sorry!" called Freddy's voice, "I guess I should have checked to see if anyone was down their first!"

"Here, turn around," Rose ordered, and she tried to use the Scourgify charm to clean his robes, to no avail. Suddenly, two more ink bombs came tumbling down, soaking Albus and Rose.

"Freddy!" Rose shrieked.

"Actually, that was me!" answered the gleeful voice of James.

"I know where you sleep!" Buddy threatened.

"Relax, it's disappearing ink!" James called down to them, "It'll be gone in a week or so!"

"So, he's in one of those moods, is he?" grumbled Albus. He could sense an impending prank war.

"Try a drying-off charm," Buddy suggested, "I think it goes as it dries." With a flip of Buddy's wand, Albus felt as if he were in a hair dryrer. He looked down as watched in relief as the purple ink faded away. He didn't want to go to potions class as a purple mess!

When the Slytherin and Gryffindor students arrived in potions class, they were quite surprised to learn that their teacher had taken an unprecedented step toward motivating his students to study their potions technique. It was unusual in that most of his methods of motivation involved shouting and frequent punishments while this one sounded to Albus as though it might be mildly amusing.

"I have initiated a contest for all the second years. The winning house will earn one-hundred points." Schlegel paused here momentarily due to the hushed outburst at the generous reward.

"You will receive a list of ten complex potions that we are going to be studying this term. Each house is to research the needed ingredients, gather them before next Saturday, and prepare a team of four students to make one of those potions from memory."

"How will you decide which potion it will be?" asked one of the Slytherin girls curiously.

"Professor Longbottom will draw a potion from a hat just before the contest begins. The team who manages to make the correct potion first will be declared the winner."

"What are the potions, Professor?" asked another student.

"This list will be given out at lunch today," he explained, "That way no one can say two houses got a head start. Also, any house that is caught seeking help from older students will be disqualified." The Gryffindor students nodded approvingly and excitedly as the Slytherins gazed at Rose Weasley with unsportsmanlike scorn. They knew she was the one who posed the greatest threat to their obtaining the prize. They also knew that if they fell back in house points again, Schlegel would probably revoke their curfew and send them to their rooms at eight o'clock, repossess their dessert at meal times, and allow the older students to make their lives very difficult. Scorpius groaned and whispered to Albus when Schlegel's back was turned.

"This is just a trick so he won't have to teach us those potions himself! Lazy git!" Albus didn't seem to be listening and Scorpius followed his gaze to his cousin, whom he was observing with a perplexed expression. Rose Weasley would normally be bursting at the seams to take advantage of any opportunity to put her brilliant mind to the task of research, but just then she was acting very out-of-character. Her head was tilted forward and she wasn't looking at the teacher, nor taking notes, but staring at the potions book in front of her, which she held unusually close to her face, as though the print was very small. Albus craned his neck to get a better look and as he did, he realized what his cousin was doing. She had placed another book inside the cover of her potions text and was trying to hide the pages so Schlegel wouldn't know that she was ignoring him. Albus watched curiously as Rose sat enthralled in her book. He wondered what was so interesting about it that she was breaking the rules to read it.

After lunch, the second year Slytherins went straight to the library filled with house pride and determination to beat the other houses and be first to work out the potions for Schlegel's contest. They figured they had the advantage as Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were currently in Herbology and they had a full study period to get a head start. To their surprise, there were no Gryffindors present in the library when they sat down at the table and Sonora Grey began digging frantically through the catalogue and delegating other students to different sections of the potions collection.

"Here! Malfoy!" she ordered, "Go and fetch this one!" Scorpius wasn't fond of being told to 'go and fetch' anything, but in the interest of house pride he took the call number and began the tedious search among the dusty tomes. As he tried to navigate the complicated system of colors, letters, numbers, and runes, he found his way into a dark nook where he nearly tripped over Rose Weasley, who was sitting on the floor, engrossed in a large, thin manuscript. She gave a little gasp when she saw him, slammed the book shut, and stuffed it back onto the shelf.

"Are they making you do all the work, Weasley?" Scorpius laughed, "It must be tough at times being the class know-it-all." Rose ruffled a little at his rudeness but tried unsuccessfully to look nonchalant as she insinuated herself between Scorpius and the shelf behind her.

"Hello, Scorpius," she greeted primly, "How are you?"

"I'm doing very well," he drawled through a broad smile, "Anything wrong?" Rose shrugged her shoulders and attempted to pull off an unconcerned attitude.

"No. Nothing at all. You just startled me."

"I can see that," he laughed, "What have you got there?"

"What do you mean?"

"You looked like you were very interested in that book."

"No," she feigned, "I'm just browsing…like I always do."

"Oh," he exclaimed, "I thought perhaps you'd found one of the answers to Schlegel's potion contest back there."

"Oh, that…no. I wasn't even…I was just,"

"Do you mind if I have a look?" he asked, trying to dodge around her and get to the book she'd stashed away.

"Why?" she asked urgently shuffling to the side to block his advance. Scorpius laughed again.

"Well, maybe because I think I might like to read it! I can read you know. Or did you think you were the only one who could do that?"

"Sometimes," she admitted with a coy shrug.

"Well, you're not," Scorpius informed her, "Am I allowed to look at the library books too, or not?"

"Go ahead," Rose invited, trying again to sound unconcerned, "I'm not even sure which one it was." Scorpius ran his finger along the spines of the books.

"I think it's this one," he said as he removed the correct volume, "See, the call number's wrong. Honestly, Weasley, don't you know it's rude not to put the library books back where you found them?" Rose shrugged her shoulders and began to make an escape.

"Hey, this isn't a potions book!" Scorpius exclaimed in disappointment.

"I told you I wasn't looking for that."

"_Wizarding Bloodlines Through the Ages," _he read aloud, "What d'you want with this?"

"Like I said, I was just browsing."

"What's this?" he pulled a scrap of parchment from between the pages of the book. It appeared to be a clipping from the Daily Prophet.

"Oh, that. I was just using it as a place marker," Rose explained.

"But I thought you weren't reading this book," Scoprius pointed out slyly. He examined the front and back of the paper.

"_Pureblood mania may be alive and well in Knockturn Alley. For sometime now, members of an alleged genealogy society have been gathering at various floating locations. The society, headed by Mr. Marius Rath, claims to be a legitimate club for enthusiasts interested in researching their ancestry. Neighbors and critics suspect that the society is a pure-blood elitist group and that many members are known anti-muggle activists and former Deatheater supporters. In response to an inquiry, a spokesperson for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had this statement, "The aurors are aware of the existence and the membership of this club. Thus far, no claim of illegal or suspicious activities have been substantiated in any way. It appears that this society, headed by Mr. Rath does exactly what it claims to do; provide historical lineages to interested witches and wizards…"_

"I believe you can read, Malfoy, there's no need to demonstrate it," Rose interrupted irritably.

"Are you trying to research your genealogy?" Scorpius asked.

"Why are you so interested in what I read?" Rose demanded.

"I'm not. I couldn't care less what you read," he retorted, "I'm much more interested in why you're lying about it. That I find fascinating."

"I don't have anything to lie about!" she snapped as she snatched the clipping from him and stomped angrily away.


	7. The Changeling

"All right, Malfoy, which ingredient goes in first," Sonora Grey demanded adamantly as she followed Albus and Scorpius to Herbology. Scorpius rolled his eyes at her. She was interrupting their conversation again. Sonora grabbed the back of his robe and stayed him with a jerk.

"Hey! This is serious!" she growled menacingly. Scorpius looked at his friend incredulously.

"If I'd had known I was going to be held hostage, I wouldn't have agreed to be on our house's team!" he grumbled as he tried in vain to loose her grip on his clothes.

"You can be replaced," Sonora threatened.

"Good. Replace me!" he retorted and tried again to pull away. Sonora grabbed him by the collar and held him back. Albus tried to contain his snorts of laughter.

"Malfoy, if you lose us a hundred house points..!" she bellowed.

"Oh, go on, Sonora!" Albus exclaimed, "Scorpius is by far the best Slytherin at potions in our year. He was neck and neck with Rose on the midterms. You're yanking on the wrong collar!"

"Did he come in head of the class?" Sonora demanded of Albus as Scorpius tried to squirm away.

"He came in second," Albus admitted.

"Then we've still got work to do!" she declared and with a final brutal shake she released him. Scorpius smoothed out the wrinkles in his robes indignantly, but did not run away.

"Now what's the first ingredient?" she demanded again.

"Wormroot?" he responded in an exasperated tone.

"Are you asking me or are you telling me?" He rolled his eyes again.

"I'm telling you!" he grumbled. Suddenly, a blue blob shot past Albus' left ear and hit Scorpius square in the chest.

"Euagh!" Sonora cried at the purple ink drenching her shirt. The three of them turned toward the source of the attack and got a glimpse of red hair from behind a yew bush.

"James Potter!" Sonora bellowed furiously and James' pink face emerged from behind the shrub, followed by Quentin and Randy, who were laughing hysterically.

"Yes, Miss Grey?" James answered sarcastically.

"Look what you did to my robes!" James came out from behind the bush curiously, looking her up and down.

"I think you look absolutely lovely," he commented snidely, "You too Malfoy." Scorpius scowled at him as he tried to prevent the purple ink from destroying his Herbology book. Sonora grabbed Albus and held him in a full nelson, pointing her wand at his throat.

"Put me right, now! Or I'll turn your brother into a slug!" James suddenly looked very concerned.

"Not Albus! I don't see how I could go on living after such a staggering loss!"

"I like slugs," Randy commented, "They're cool!"

"Well, it depends on the kind of slug, really," Quentin corrected, "What kind of slug would Albus be?"

"Lemme go!" Albus demanded trying to pull away.

"Wait a minute, Al," Randy cautioned, "I don't think you are thinking this through much. I mean, slugs don't have homework…"

"What's going on here?" demanded Rose as she made her way down the path behind a pile of books.

"Sonora Grey is going to try to turn Albus into a slug!" Quentin explained excitedly. Rose looked at Sonora doubtfully.

"Do you even know how to do that?" she asked.

"Please," Scorpius responded tartly as he rung the ink out from the hem of his robe, "She couldn't even turn a fried egg!" Sonora shot Scorpius a glare, but she released Albus. Rose caught sight of the result of James' attack and sighed in exasperation.

"James, really!" she cried, and she cast a drying off spell on both Scorpius and Sonora.

"What?" James asked innocently, "It's just a joke."

"A joke is supposed to be funny you halfwit!" Scorpius corrected, "This is called an assault!"

"I thought it was funny," Randy commented antagonistically.

"Don't you have some place to be?" Rose asked him irritably. The three Gryffindor boys looked at each other, shrugged, and ran off through the frosty grass.

"Honestly!" Rose exclaimed again, and she went past them down toward the greenhouse.

"Here!" Sonora began again once she was sure Rose was gone. She pulled a piece of parchment from her notebook and thrust it at Albus, "These are the things we need for the potions contest that can probably be found in the greenhouses. You can look for those during potions classs." Albus took the parchment and stuffed it into his pocket.

Professor Longbottom was there to greet them at the greenhouse door, as usual. As each student passed, he collected a piece of parchment that contained the homework assignment.

"I hope you aren't too attached to your brother, Albus," Scorpius commented as he struggled to remove a soaking wet, blueish wad of parchment from his Herbology book, "Because I may have to murder him." Albus chuckled to himself.

"We may have to seek retribution for this one, mate." he agreed. When it was Scorpius' turn to hand in his homework, he held out the stained parchment to his teacher. Professor Longbottom took one look at it and rolled his eyes.

"What happened, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked impatiently.

"James Potter," Scorpius growled in lieu of an explanation. Professor Longbottom sighed and gingerly accepted the soaking, wet homework assignment and directed Scorpius to his seat.

After the lecture, Professor Longbottom allowed them the rest of the hour to collect the ingredients they would need for the potions contest. The Slytherins and Gryffindors shot each other suspicious glances as they scattered around, preparing the essential components. Sonora whispered orders to them as they worked, so the other team wouldn't hear. Albus had to admit that he felt somewhat overwhelmed with the task. Many of the potions required very specific preparations for the different ingredients.

"Here's Midnight Nettle!" announced Donner Bumgarner as he eagerly grabbed the snippers, "We need that!"

"Shhh!" the Slytherins hushed him. The Gryffindors had taken notice and were peeking at them through the greenery.

"Don't take it now!" Scorpius cautioned, "It has to be gathered under a new moon!"

"It doesn't say that!" Malcolm Ward hissed, consulting the spell book they'd found in the library.

"I'm sure of it," Scorpius insisted, "It doesn't work unless you gather it at midnight under a new moon."

"And just exactly how are we supposed to do that when we've got a curfew?" Scorpius shrugged.

"Leave it to Schlegel to give us an impossible task."

"It's not impossible," Albus assured him, "We'll come up with something." They left the plant untouched, to the confusion of the Gryffindors.

"Do you notice anything weird about Rosie?" Albus whispered to Scorpius as they searched among the rows of plants.

"That's somewhat of a loaded question."

"She seems off a bit," he remarked, "And she isn't paying attention in class. That isn't like her at all." Scorpius looked over at Rose. She appeared to be daydreaming with a troubled expression on her face.

"She was acting sort of strange in the library yesterday," Scorpius recalled.

"How so?"

"Well, she had this genealogy book out. But she acted like she didn't want me to know she was reading it. I thought maybe she'd found some of the potions we needed for the contest and was trying to hide the book so no one else could find it."

"Rose wouldn't do that!" Albus insisted defensively.

"Well, anyway, I got the book off of her and then I saw what it was. I asked her about it and she went off in a huff. It was as if I'd accused her of something bad. I didn't know what to make of it."

Albus carefully digested this new information. He'd noticed Rose's strange behavior ever since they'd returned to school. Something was bothering her, but he couldn't figure out what. He resolved to speak to her about it as soon as he could get her alone.

After lunch, the Slytherin second years had a free period. Scorpius retreated to their room in order to escape Sonora's constant hounding. Albus joined him as he'd received a parcel in the post from his Uncle George's shop and he thought it prudent to open it in privacy.

"_Dear Albus_," he read aloud, "_We're developing a new product and we thought you might like to test it for us and give us your imput. Love, Teddy_."

"What is it?" Scorpius asked him eagerly. Albus removed the string that bound the parcel and opened it to reveal a small tube. Along with it was a small piece of parchment which Albus opened and read aloud.

"_Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes proudly presents the first-ever password protected fusion strips! When a victim is touching these invisible strips and utters the magic words, they are magically fused to whatever surface you want! The possibilities are endless!" _Albus looked up from the package, a wide grin on his face.

"You know, I think James has been asking for this for a good, long time!"

Scorpius laughed wholeheartedly and nodded his agreement.

Albus got his opportunity to speak with Rose that evening after dinner. He found her in their usual retreat under the stairwell, reading from a small book with a colorful jacket.

"Hi, Rose!" he greeted cheerfully, "What's that you're reading?" Rose looked up in alarm and closed the book quickly.

"It's nothing. It's just some notes I've been taking." Albus took a seat beside her.

"You've been acting sort of strange," he pointed out to his cousin, "You seem to be bothered by something. You aren't even interested in the potions contest! Scorpius noticed it too. He said you were acting weird in the library." Rose stared at Albus with narrowed eyes. She seemed to be discerning something before responding. Albus looked back with genuine concern. Rose wasn't only his cousin, but his closest and oldest friend. He hated to think that something was upsetting her that she couldn't tell him.

"What is it, Rosie?" he pressured.

"You have to promise not to tell a soul," she insisted and Albus nodded emphatically.

"And you won't think less of me?" she added.

"No, Rose. How could I ever?" Rose smiled at him warmly and she pulled a photograph from her notebook and set it before Albus.

"I'm trying to find out who this is," Rose explained.

"Isn't that your grandfather when he was a kid?" Albus asked. She picked up the photograph and stared at the boy in the photograph.

"I believe that is my grandfather," she explained, "But I don't believe it is Wilbur Granger." Albus didn't understand.

"Well, who do you think he is then?" Rose shook her head.

"I have no idea…at least not yet." Albus looked at the photograph again.

"But Rose," he argued, "I don't understand. How could he be anyone but…"

"This is Wilbur Granger," she interrupted as she set a photograph of a playful toddler on the floor beside the first, "Look at the photographs, Albus. They aren't the same boy." Albus examined the photographs. The younger boy had fine, blonde hair, the older boy thick, bristly curls of a darker shade.

"It's just the hair," Albus told her, "Lots of people's hair gets darker as they grow up. My hair was much lighter when I was a baby, but now it's almost black."

"It's not just the hair!" Rose insisted with a crack in her voice, "Look!" Albus stared at her in alarm. She looked to him as if she might start to cry. He looked back to the photographs.

"I guess…they do look pretty different," he admitted. Rose gave a sigh of relief.

"My mum won't even speak to me about this," she confided to him, "She and I had a bit of a row over it before I got on the train." Albus could sense his cousin's pain in her eyes. She'd always had a very close bond with her mother. He knew Rose must hate to have this contention between them.

"But, Rose…I mean…how could he not be who he says he is? Wouldn't his family know? And what do you reckon happened to the real Wilbur Granger?" Albus could see that his objections were causing her more distress. She reached for her shoulder bag and dumped out several small books onto the floor.

"What are these?" Albus asked her, picking one up.

"They're muggle story books," she told him, "I borrowed them from the public library."

"Well, what are they for?" She took the book Albus had picked up and opened it.

"It's a book of muggle legends and folklore," she explained, "It has a story in it called The Legend of the Changelings." She turned it to the page she wanted it and read aloud.

"_A changeling is a fairy child, whose mother disguises him to look like a human child. The fairy waits until a human mother is neglecting her own child's cradle, then sneaks in and replaces her sleeping babe with the changeling, stealing away with the human child, into the night. The changeling takes on a strong resemblance to the human child and an outsider might not even know the difference, but the child's mother always knows immediately that her child has been stolen." _Rose stopped reading out loud and handed the book to Albus. He skimmed the rest of the story. It went on to explain the different ways a mother might trick the changeling into revealing itself or get the fairy mother to fetch back her own child. Albus finally looked up at Rose curiously.

"All these books have variations of the same story," Rose informed him, indicating the muggle books on the floor.

"But, Rose, you don't think that your grandfather is a fairy's baby, do you?"

"Of course not," she assured him, "But what if something like this actually does happen? I mean, look at all these books, Albus. They're stories from all over the world! Britain, Germany, Africa, even some American Indians told a version of the same story! What if it's based on truth?"

"Dad does say that some legends are based on truth," Albus admitted and Rose nodded.

"I think my mother's father was switched with Wilbur Granger."

"But Rose, how do you know? You haven't got any proof!"

"Proof?" Rose exclaimed, holding up the two pictures.

"That could just be a coincidence."

"My mother is the only one in her family that can do magic."

"I know but…don't you think his family would have noticed their son was missing? It said in the story that the mothers always know the changeling isn't their child." Rose seemed troubled by this argument.

"Maybe who ever changed him used some sort of magic to deceive them?"

"But why would anyone want to switch him in the first place?"

"I don't know," Rose admitted bitterly, "But I mean to find out." Albus fell silent. He glanced down at the multiple books on the floor. Rose's hypothesis seemed uncharacteristically farfetched to him.

"Mum isn't being very helpful," Rose remarked after a long pause.

"No?"

"I know she knows something but she won't tell me. She just wants me to forget about it." Albus' eyes followed the pattern of the floor. For a long time he didn't know what to say.

"Well…Maybe she's right," he finally suggested, "I mean, it could be something really bad. Maybe something you don't even want to know."

He anticipated an angry reaction from his cousin, but was surprised when she only sighed again.

"I've thought of that," she answered, "But I'd rather know the truth."

Albus reckoned he couldn't blame her. If it had been his grandfather, he expected that he'd also want to know.

"Aren't you going to tell me that it doesn't matter?" Rose asked quietly. Albus look up again in confusion.

"Huh?"

"Aren't you going to say that it doesn't matter who he is or where he came from, that it has no baring on who I am at all? That I'm still me?"

"Well…you are still you…" Albus agreed awkwardly. He couldn't quite work out what she was getting at.

"My mother says that it doesn't matter who your parents are and that a witch or wizard should be judged on their own merit, not on their family."

"I reckon that's about right."

"She thinks I should be focused on school and on being a moral person, that worrying about my ancestry is a meaningless waste of time."

"Well, you're already one of the most brilliant and moral people I've ever met," Albus assured her, "So if you're ancestry is meaningful to you, then I don't think it's a waste of time." Rose smiled at him.

"Will you keep it secret?" she asked him, "I don't want my mum angry with me, or anyone else." Albus nodded and Rose brightened up considerably.

"I'm glad I told you, Albus," she said with a renewed vigor.

"I'm glad too." And with that, they packed up her books and went their separate ways.


	8. The Prank

"This is impossible!" Scorpius wailed for about the tenth time since the second year Slytherins had assembled in the library to complete their research for the potions contest. Albus was compassionate toward his friend's plight. The others were hounding him relentlessly, particularly Sonora Grey who hadn't given him a moment's rest from the moment he'd stepped into the common room. So intent on lecturing and drilling him on the potion recipes for the contest, she'd nearly chased after him into the boys lavatory after their Charms class! Fortunatly, another girl had alerted her before she made the mistake and the two manic girls waited outside the lavatory door like hound dogs with a fox backed into a hole.

"Merlin's Beard!" Scorpius had exclaimed in exasperation as he took his time washing his hands at the sink, "Why do they have to let all these stupid, bossy girls in this school anyway? Hogwarts'd be a fair sight better off without them!" Octavian Bell overheard his grumbling and cuffed him on the back of the head, causing him to spill water down his sleeve.

"Bite your tongue, Malfoy!" he insisted, "In a year or so, you'll be glad to have them around!"

"What's wrong with the twizzlip sprouts we have in the potion's lab?" Malcolm complained to Scorpius.

"They're dried," Scorpius reminded him, "They won't work for these potions. The text specifically says they have to be fresh…germinated within the past forty-eight hours."

"Does anyone know how to germinate twizzlip sprouts?" Donner asked.

"I don't even know what a twizzlip is!" Albus admitted sheepishly.

"According to our Herbology text, it's a tiny parasitic turnip that grows out of hair follicles."

"So, someone's got to go around with a lot of plants growing out of their head?"

"Not it!" Scorpius announced.

"Not it!" chorused Albus, Donner, Malcolm, and Jesse in agreement. Sonora exchanged glances with the only other Slytherin girl in their year, Mildred Drake. Her frizzy hair cascaded from her scalp in thick, unmanageable clumps. It looked to the other Slytherins like the ideal climate for parasitic turnips. In fact, one might not even notice their presence. Mildred, however, was in disagreement.

"Forget it!" she snapped at them.

"But…" began Jesse but his protest crumbled under the threatening heat of her glare.

"We could make my brother Virgil do it," Donner suggested flippantly, "If we can catch him." This suggestion was met with nods of approval from most of the others. Albus rolled his eyes.

"You expect us to tackle your little brother and plant his scalp full of parasites?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Come on, Potter! Your own brother'd do it to you in a heartbeat!" he pointed out.

"That doesn't make it right!" Albus insisted, "Besides, didn't you hear what Schlegel said? We aren't allowed to get help from other years."

"Technically, he said we aren't allowed to get help from older students," Sonora pointed out, " Bumgarner's brother is younger."

The others smirked approvingly at the new loophole. Albus sighed and glanced at Scorpius who was frowning at a page in his potions book, entirely unscandalized by the impending assault on the younger Bumgarner brother. Albus wondered how the other members of his house managed to go about with such complete indifference to the injustice in the world.

"Then it's settled," Donner concluded, "Vigil can take one for the team." Scorpius looked up from his book and rolled his eyes.

"Don't you think it would be a lot easier if we put them on that mangy old cat of yours?" he asked Donner. Donner's eyes widened and he snarled in outrage.

"Don't you dare put parasites on Wallace!" Albus snorted incredulously.

"You're more compassionate toward your cat than your brother!"

"So what? I love my cat!"

"You and my brother, James, are cut from the same stuff," Albus accused disdainfully. Donner shrugged his shoulders.

"What are big brothers for?" he asked.

"Look, we can worry about whose hair roots to use later," Sonora commanded them, "A fat lot of good twizzlip sprouts are going to do us if we can't figure out how to gather that midnight nettle in the middle of the night without breaking curfew!" The others nodded soberly. Albus wished for the hundredth time that he had his father's invisibility cloak.

"We'll just have to sneak down there tomorrow night when it's a new moon," concluded Malcolm. Sonora rolled her eyes.

"Don't be an idiot, Ward," she said flippantly, "Schlegel would curse us to death, bring us back as inferi, and then sell us as slaves to the goblins, if we snuck out!"

"Did you think I was planning on telling him about it?" he demanded sarcastically.

"You might as well if we show up to the contest with the midnight nettle and no story about how we got it legitimately," Scorpius pointed out.

"Oh, yeah," Malcom conceded sheepishly.

"You're sure it has to be collected at exactly midnight?" Jesse asked Scorpius for the tenth time.

"Yes!" he moaned in response.

"Well, what would happen if we gathered it at eight-forty-five under the new moon?" Jesse demanded.

"Who knows?," Scorpius responded, "The book doesn't say what you get when you do it the wrong way. Maybe a wicked explosion…maybe a potion that doesn't work very well." The other Slytherins slunk down into their seats. Albus felt bad. He wished he could be a more productive member of his team, but potion-making wasn't at all his strong suit and he couldn't think of any better solution of how to obtain the specimen they needed.

The Slytherins had still not managed to come up with a plan when they were forced by the clock to pack up their things and head up for their divination lesson. Albus and Scorpius walked alongside each other without speaking. They were both still trying to concoct a brilliant plan for the retrieval of the Midnight Nettle when they discovered a very flustered-looking Rose Weasley, who stood with hands on hips and nostrils flaring as she chastised two of her second-year house mates in a sharp tone.

"I don't care how many points we get, you had no right to do it!" she barked at them. At her side stood Albus' cousin, Freddy, who's expression looked pained as he clawed feverishly at his scalp with his nails.

"Aw, I'm alright, Rose," he claimed, though his grimace betrayed his discomfort, "I don't mind."

"See! He doesn't mind!" the two boys declared triumphantly. Rose squealed in indignation.

"What's wrong, Freddy?" Albus asked his cousin. Freddy's face looked slightly panicked as Albus and his housemates approached.

"N…nothing," he chirped as he quickly withdrew his hands from his red hair and held them at his side with clenched fists.

"Yeah, he's alright!" one of the two other boys interjected, trying to insinuate himself between Albus and a full view of his cousin.

"My foot, he is!" Rose spat angrily, "Just look at him!"

"What?" Freddy asked, attempting unsuccessfully to appear nonchalant. Meanwhile, a very thin vine with tiny leaves and white buds was weaving its way through his thick, red crown.

"I can't believe you put parasites in his…" Rose began to shout, but the two boys hissed for her to shut up. Rose responded with an indignant squeal.

"Hey, Weasley, you've got a little something in your hair," Scorpius said casually as he extended his hand toward Freddy's head, "Here, I'll get it!" The two older boys whipped out their wands instantly and pointed them in Scorpius' face.

"Back off, Malfoy!" one of them demanded.

"Yeah! Those turnips are Gryffindor property!" the other declared. Scorpius stepped back defensively and shrugged his shoulders.

"It was worth a shot," he commented. The two older Gryffindors escorted Freddy away down the corridor like an entourage of body guards while Rose followed them, chastising in a shrill voice. Sonora Grey snorted.

"We should have known that any parasite we needed could be found crawling on your cousins, Potter!" she snarled sarcastically.

"Don't you dare insult my family!" cried Albus indignantly, his hand flying to the handle of his wand. Sonora rolled her eyes, unaffected.

"You can't curse me!" she dared.

"Oh, and why not?" demanded Albus.

"Because, I'm a girl!" was her triumphant response, "Everyone will say you're a brute and a coward if you curse a girl." Albus gave Scorpius an incredulous look. Scorpius shrugged.

"I've heard that said…but I've never really believed in it."

"It's too bad you weren't able to get any of your cousin's sprouts, Potter," Donner complained, changing the subject.

"Well, I guess he wasn't in the mood to share."

Freddy's refusal to share, however, turned out to be short-lived. During their next period, he apparently shared his twizzlip sprouts with all the other first years in his house. Next, he shared with the Ravenclaws in his charms class. By lunchtime, the whole Ravenclaw table was scratching their scalps and several of the Gryffindors had white, wispy aerial roots that dangled to their shoulders. On their way to the common room, Albus and Scorpius observed two Hufflepuff girls making their way awkwardly to the nurse. Their heads had become conjoined by the entwining twizzlip vines

By the end of the afternoon, the teaching staff had the non-infected students quarantined in their dormitories while the house elves raced about the castle, frantically rounding up the spores. Professor Schlegel ordered all the Slytherins that weren't in the hospital wing to assemble in the common room so the prefects could inspect them for signs of infestation.

"Who knew that being a prefect would be so glamorous," Jasmine Whitney whined as she gingerly picked at Albus' head with a comb, "Merlin's Beard, you've got a mess of hair, Potter!"

"If you happen to find anything that looks like a sprout, could you set it aside for our potions contest?" Sonora Grey asked her hopefully. Whitney shot her a disdainful look and then rolled her eyes as she gingerly picked at Albus' hair.

Shortly later, Albus made his way down the stairwell to his room scratching his head all the way. Whitney hadn't found any signs of parasites on Albus, but the mere suggestion of tiny sprouts latching onto his hair follicles made him itch like mad. When he open the door to his room, he found Scorpius holding the package Albus had received from his uncle's shop and grinning like a Cheshire cat as he read the instruction card that came with it.

"I think I've got a plan!" he declared jubilantly.

"For how we can gather a plant at midnight without breaking curfew or how we can get back at James?" Albus asked him. Scorpius' smile became broader.

"Both!" he said gleefully.

The next morning, James Potter arrived at breakfast bright and early. James was not generally a morning person. In fact, he could usually be found still snoring away well after his roommates had finished dressing and he often overslept to the point where he had to race down from Gryffindor tower at top speed in order to stuff some toast or an orange in his pockets on the way to his first class. Today, however, was Friday and every Friday the Hogwarts students had French toast for breakfast. French toast drenched in syrup was possibly James Potter's favorite food in the world, particularly alongside a selection of sausages and a pile of enchanted hash browns. The Friday morning potatoes were cutouts of a smiley face. James thought there was no better way to begin the day than ingesting a plate of potato faces that smiled at him, winked, and occasionally stuck out their tongues. Therefore, it was his custom to arrive at breakfast promptly on Friday morning and in very good humor.

He strode into the Great Hall with an excited smile on his face which immediately fell when he caught sight of the Gryffindor table. Albus and Scorpius had settled themselves across from each other at the end of the Gryffindor table and were helping themselves to _his_ platter of French toast.

"What do you think you're doing?" James demanded irritably. The two younger boys smirked in a mischievous manner.

"Good morning, James," Albus greeted brightly, ignoring the question. Scorpius chortled into his napkin.

"Very funny, Al," James said scowling, "Now, get up. You're in my spot."

"I don't see your name on it," Scorpius baited him. James shot him a glare.

"Oh, no?" James asked mockingly. He stepped over the bench where Albus was sitting and pointed to the table in front of Scorpius.

"It's right here!" With that he flipped a large pitcher of maple syrup into Scorpius lap, drowning his robes in warm, runny stickiness.

"Eugh!" Scorpius exclaimed in disgust as he jumped to his feet.

"Hey!" Albus cried furiously.

"Get lost!" James demanded and he shoved Albus from the bench and took a seat.

"Come on, Al," said Scorpius bitterly as he slammed the empty container on the table. Albus got quickly to his feet and gave his brother a shove before they scrambled to their own table.

"Sorry about your clothes, mate," Albus said sheepishly as they sat down.

"It's all for the cause," Scorpius assured him.

James' spirits improved once he had dispatched the two Slytherin intruders from the table. He helped himself to a huge stack of French toast and began shoveling mouthfuls at an alarming speed. Gradually, the other Gryffindors appeared and sat down to eat.

"Why isn't there any syrup?" complained James' friend Mansel.

"It's a holiday in Canada," James explained through a full mouth.

"Potter!" barked Professor White, "Where's that parchment?"

"Hmmph?" James asked, syrup dribbling down his chin. He swallowed.

"Parchment?"

"The essay you managed to wheedle me into accepting late. You swore you'd have it by breakfast."

"I do!" James insisted, "I mean, I did it last night."

"Well, I'll have it now, then." James looked down sheepishly.

"I left it on the desk in my room," he admitted.

"Well, go and fetch it at once!" White ordered and James' fork clattered to his plate and he leant back to swing his legs over the bench. Suddenly, his face took on a strange expression. He placed both his hands on the bench and bounced repeatedly. Professor White's eyes narrowed.

"I'm loosing my patience, Mr. Potter!" he warned. James continued to struggle with pushing off the bench. His face was becoming panicked.

"Potter! Move!" his teacher demanded in a cross tone.

"I…can't!" James moaned, "I'm stuck to the bench!"

Across the hall, Albus and Scorpius were craning their necks.

"Move over a little, will you, Virgil?" Albus asked as he strained to get a better look. Meanwhile, a crowd of curious Gryffindors were assembling around his brother, obscuring their view. Scorpius climbed up on to his knees and attempted to see over their heads.

"Malfoy! Sit down at once!" bellowed Professor Schlegel, who was passing behind them on his way to the head table, a steaming, fragrant mug of coffee in his hand. Scorpius collapsed onto his bottom, offering up his most repentant look until the teacher was out of earshot.

"Are they holding all right?" Albus whispered.

"Owww Euaaaaarph! Ahhhhh!" Every head in the room whipped around toward the end of the Gryffindor table.

"Yeah, I think so," Scorpius answered through his giggling.

"How on earth did you manage to do this!" Professor White's voice echoed across the hall.

"I didn't do anything! I don't know!" they heard James cry pitifully.

"Hey, what's going on over there?" Virgil asked, turning his neck around to see the commotion behind him.

"Who knows?" Scorpius responded as he tried to look interested in his breakfast plate. They hurried through their meal while Professor White tried several charms to unstuck James, a couple of which caused a loud yelp of pain from their subject. Albus nearly choked on his orange juice when he heard James exclaim indignantly, "I'm _not_ taking off my trousers in the middle of the breakfast table!" Finally, the teacher determined that special care was required and James needed to be relocated to the hospital wing.

"Weasley and Weasley," he summoned the twins, "Take your cousin and his buttocks to the hospital wing."

"Yes, Professor," the twins chorused, matching sardonic expressions spread across their faces. James wailed in misery as his cousins levitated his bench from the table, swayed it back and forth, and chanted,

_Rock-a-bye, Jamie, in the tree top!_

_When the wind blows, the cradle will rock!_

_When the bough breaks the cradle will fall!_

_And down will come Jamie, cradle and all!_

By the time they'd finished their song, James was floating, suspended upside-down from the bench as the whole procession passed by the Slytherin table.

"Rock-a-bye, Jamie…" Albus sang saucily from his seat.

"Shut up, Albus!" James cried. Suddenly, his rear-end released from the bench and he crashed, head first to the floor.


End file.
